lams 


1.  MITUJUiLL  HASTINGS. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

COLLEGE 

PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.  T.  MITCHELL  HASTINGS 


387-5 


HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 


AN   OLD  ARCHWAY  — SIENA  (page  287) 


HILL  TOWNS  OF   ITALY 


EGEETO^  B.  WILLIAMS,  JR. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM    PHOTOGRAPHS 


I,  MITCHELL  HASTINGS. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

&fee  fltoersi&e  prej 
1903 


COPYRIGHT   1903   BY  EGERTON   R.  WILLIAMS,  JR. 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  October  1903 


.TTY  cv  CAUFORN 

SANTA  1URBAIIA  COLLEGE  UB 


/ft  accordance  with  that  ancient  custom  of 
dedication,  whose  usage  is  no  longer  material, 
but  has  point  when  gratitude  inspires  it,  I  in- 
scribe this  volume  to  the  wife  without  whose 
fortitude  and  care  it  would  not  have  come 
into  existence. 


PREFACE 

CENTRAL  ITALY  is  the  most  interesting  country 
in  the  world.  It  includes  not  merely  Rome,  that 
made  on  her  seven  hills  for  twenty  centuries  the 
history  of  the  Aryan  race,  and  Florence,  the  beau- 
tiful reviver  of  the  race's  energies  and  accom- 
plishments ;  but  it  includes  also  that  wonderful 
region  of  mountains  extending  between  those 
cities  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  reaching 
from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Adriatic.  On  the 
lofty  summits  of  those  Apennines  were  perched 
the  hundred  cities  of  the  Etruscans  before  Rome 
was  founded,  disseminating  a  high  civilization, 
controlling  by  their  powerful  confederation  the 
peninsula  of  Italy  and  the  waters  of  the  sea ;  be- 
hind their  battlements  only  rested  the  remains  of 
civilization  when  the  Empire  of  Rome  had  fallen  ; 
in  their  churches  and  monasteries  flickered  the 
feeble  light  of  learning  through  the  ensuing  dark 
ages,  first  beginning  to  glow  again  when  these 
hill  towns  threw  off  the  yoke  of  Frank  and  Ger- 
man to  constitute  themselves  free  and  independ- 


viii  PREFACE 

ent  republics,  —  republics  whose  citizens  dis- 
played such  valor,  endurance,  and  patriotism  that 
the  world  has  not  yet  ceased  to  wonder.  Then 
upon  these  mountain-tops  was  born  that  wonder- 
ful Renaissance  of  Religion,  Humanity,  Science, 
Literature,  and  Art,  which  dispelled  the  darkness 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  lifted  the  mind  of  man  from 
its  thralls,  and  spread  to  Rome  and  France  and 
England,  to  give  us  the  civilization  that  we  have 
to-day.  The  hill  towns  did  not  merely  give  birth 
to  the  Renaissance;  they  bound  it  into  the  very 
fibres  of  their  bodies  and  the  principles  of  their 
existence.  In  due  time  they  reflected  the  lives  of 
Dante,  Perugino,  and  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi. 
To-day  their  work  for  humanity  is  long  since 
done;  they  sit  upon  their  crags  far  above  the 
shining  rails  that  carry  modern  commerce,  mostly 
deserted  and  crumbling  to  decay. 

What  field  is  there  on  the  broad  earth  carry- 
ing such  enticement  to  the  traveler  as  this  ?  It 
is  not  only  the  cradle  of  our  civilization,  but 
there  is  no  other  field  so  replete  with  historical 
associations  of  every  age.  There  is  nowhere  else 
such  picturesqueness  of  scenery,  —  the  natural 
and  the  man-made  side  by  side,  intermixed 
through  a  host  of  centuries.  Here  is  beauty  also, 
the  purest  and  the  original  beauty  of  the  art  of 


PREFACE  ix 

the  Renaissance,  in  the  lines  of  countless  palaces, 
in  the  glowing  colors  of  the  canvases  of  the 
early  masters.  And  here  is  natural  beauty,  in 
the  lovely  plains  which  the  mountains  hold  within 
their  grasp,  —  the  wondrous,  golden  plain  of 
Umbria,  the  fertile  table-land  of  Etruria,  the 
luxuriant  Valle  di  Chiana,  the  pastoral  valleys  of 
the  upper  Tiber  and  the  Arno. 

Why,  then,  has  this  field  been  so  neglected  by 
travelers  ?  A  sojourn  of  a  spring  and  summer 
amongst  the  hill  towns  has  given  me  a  probable 
answer :  it  must  have  been  because  of  their  com- 
parative inaccessibility,  their  lack  of  the  comforts 
of  modern  life,  and  the  necessity  in  visiting  them 
of  having  a  knowledge  of  their  language.  Their 
neglect  by  writers  must  have  the  same  reason, 
but  it  is  more  strange.  In  preparing  for  my 
wanderings  I  was  able  to  find  but  a  few  works 
bearing  on  the  mountain  cities,  and  these  were 
either  learned  treatises  such  as  Dennis's  "  Cities 
and  Sepulchres  of  Etruria,"  or  chance  essays 
upon  Perugia,  Assisi,  and  Siena.  It  was  this  lack 
of  a  comprehensive  book  upon  the  hill  towns 
which  induced  me  to  give  to  the  public  these 
memoirs  of  travel,  records  of  individual  experi- 
ence, offered  in  order  to  draw  the  attention  of 
those  who  go  abroad  to  the  wonderful  cities  of  the 


x  PREFACE 

Apennines,  and  in  the  hope  that  those  who  stay 
at  home  may  be  able  to  see  them,  at  least  faintly, 
through  my  eyes.  The  field  is  too  vast  to  dig  far 
beneath  the  surface  in  any  one  place ;  the  objects 
of  interest  are  too  infinite  to  mention  them  all. 
Mayhap  I  have  particularized  too  much  as  it  is ; 
but  my  object  lias  been  to  be  specific  enough  to 
aid  a  little  those  who  go  in  person. 

To  many  the  space  devoted  to  the  sphere  of 
art  will  be  wearisome ;  but,  as  I  have  shown,  it 
is  impossible  to  speak  of  the  hill  towns  without 
speaking  of  the  works  of  the  Renaissance  that  are 
bound  into  their  lives.  The  lines  of  their  palaces 
are  their  dress ;  the  glowing  tones  of  the  old 
masters  are  the  color  of  their  existence.  I  have 
tried  to  avoid  profuseness  and  technicality,  and 
to  mention  simply  enough  of  the  artistic  history 
of  a  place  to  put  the  reader  en  rapport  with  its 
life  and  appearance ;  and  just  enough  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  chief  painters  and  their 
works  in  the  hill  towns  to  show  the  difference 
between  the  Umbrian,  Sienese,  and  Florentine 
schools,  and  to  indicate  the  distinctive  traits  of 
the  masters  themselves. 

E.  R.  W. 

ROCHESTER,  N.  Y.,  October  4,  1903. 


CONTENTS 

MM 

I.   SOUTHERN   ETRUKIA     .        .        .        .      1 
II.  VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS        .        28 

III.  MONTEFIASCONE,     BOLSENA,      AND 

ORVIETO 54 

IV.  ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI      73 
V.  SPOLETO ''  ~  .        89 

VI.  TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  AND 

BEVAGNA       .        .        .        .-       .        .108 

VII.  SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  ....      130 

VEIL  PERUGIA 162 

IX.  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO    .      208 

X.   SIENA ..240 

XI.   SIENA  (continued)  .....      271 
XII.  VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO    .  302 

XIII.  AREZZO,  SANSEPOLCRO,  AND  CITTA 

DI  CASTELLO   .        .        .        .        .327 

XIV.  GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO    .  354 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

AN  OLD  ARCHWAY  —  SIENA  (page  287)          Frontispiece 
MAP  OF  CENTRAL  ITALY  (colored)    .       .....  ...'.,     .   viii 

THE  CASTLE  OF  BRACCIANO          .....          4 

CAPRAROLA  PALACE         .        .        .        ...    16 

THE  RAVINE  —  CIVITA  CASTELLANA     .       -.        .        18 
THE  ANCIENT  CITADEL  —  NEPI       .        .     .,  .,       .    24 
WHITE  OXEN  PULLING  AN  ANCIENT  PLOUGH       .        42 
ON  THE  ROAD  TO  BAGNAJA     .        .       *        .        .44 
VILLA  DI  LANTE  .        .  .    ,  .    ,    .        .      .  .        .        46 

THE    COURT  OF    THE    DOMINICAN    MONASTERY  — 

QUERCIA  .  ......  .  '.       .;-,.;.          .  .         52 

ORVIETO,  ON  A  VAST  PRECIPITOUS  ROCK      .        .   •     64 
VALLEY  BENEATH  ORVIETO,  FROM  THE  OLD  WALLS     70 
THE  FALLS  OF  TERNI      .        .        ...         .84 

OUTDOOR  EASTER  SERVICE  —  SPOLETO  92 

TREVI,   PERCHED   ON  A   STEEP  PlNNACLB  .  .   110 

ASSISI,  THE  CHURCH  AND  MONASTERY  .  .  146 
THE  LOWER  CHURCH,  S.  FRANCESCO  —  ASSISI  .  152 
REPRESENTATION  OF  CHASTITY,  FRESCO  BY  GIOTTO 

—  ASSISI 154 

THE  UMBRIAN  PLAIN,  FROM  ASSISI         .        .        .  160 
THE   MAIN    DOORWAY,    PALAZZO   PUBBLICO  —  PE- 
RUGIA 172 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

MADONNA,  BY  PERUGINO  —  PERUGIA  .  .  .  186 
CHOIR  STALLS,  S.  PIETRO  —  PERUGIA  .  .  200 

PORTA  EBURNEA,  BUILT  BY  THE  ETRUSCANS  —  PE- 
RUGIA ...        .        i        .        .        .        .  206 
THE  CONVENT- CASTLE  —  LAKE  THRASYMENE       .       210 
ANNUNCIATION,  BY  FRA  ANGELICO — CORTONA        .  218 
ANCIENT    FAC.ADE,    S.    MARIA    BELLA     PIEVE  — 

AREZZO 232 

PALAZZO  COMMUNALE  AND  MANGIA  TOWER  —  SIENA  254 
INTERIOR  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL  —  SIENA  .  .  .  260 
DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS,  BY  SODOMA  —  SIENA  270 
PULPIT  BY  NICCOLO  PISANO  IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  — 

SIENA 276 

JAMES  I.  OF  SCOTLAND  ENTHRONED,  BY  PINTURICCHIO 

—  SIENA 280 

HOUSES  UPHELD  BY  ARCHES  —  SlENA  .        .      300 

THE  FORTRESS  OF  VOLTERRA 306 

STREET  SCENE  —  SAN  GIMIGNANO  .  .  .  324 
REAR  FACADE  OF  PALACE  —  CITTA  DI  CASTELLO  .  350 

GUBBIO     -  .  ' .      358 

A  STREET  IN  URBINO      .  .  .  388 


A  large  proportion  of  the  illustrations 
in  this  volume  are  reproduced  from  pho- 
tographs by  Fratelli  Alinari,  Florence, 
Italy,  by  their  courteous  permission. 


HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 


M,  Argent 


1.  DEL  GIOLIOV 


.   Dl  GIANNUTRI 


MAP   OF 

CENTEAL  ITALY 


Scale  of  Miles 


10  20  30 

Railroads   thus    — 


r.U 


HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 


CHAPTER  I 

SOUTHERN    BTRURIA 

IT  was  the  most  perfect  of  Italian  spring  morn- 
ings as  the  little  train  crept  slowly  upward  on  the 
Campagna  towards  the  Cimminian  Hills.  The  vast 
dome  of  St.  Peter's  receded  gradually  toward  the 
east,  and  Rome  with  her  thousand  towers  and 
housetops  sank  below  the  Janiculum  Hill.  The 
Campagna  undulated  gently  here,  north  of  the 
Tiber,  unlike  its  barren  level  to  the  south ;  and 
every  vale  and  swell  was  covered  with  the  fresh 
green  verdure  of  growing  crops  and  budding  or- 
chards. Spring  wheat  spread  itself  knee  high, 
meadows  of  hay  glistened  with  a  myriad  of  daisies, 
and  countless  acres  of  fruit  trees  displayed  their 
new-born  leaves.  It  was  like  the  Campagna  of 
old,  when  Latium  filled  it  with  husbandry  and 
made  it  one  great  garden ;  when  the  Etruscans 
descended  from  their  mountains  and  made  it 
slave  for  them  ;  when  Veii  flourished  as  a  mighty 
commonwealth,  when  villages  and  cities  dotted 
the  landscape,  —  and  Rome  was  an  infant  colony. 


2  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

At  last  I  was  going  to  visit  that  great  Etruria, 
against  whose  might  the  Latins  founded  Rome 
as  a  bulwark  on  the  Tiber ;  Etruria,  whose  thou- 
sand cities  waxed  rich  and  powerful  before  the 
days  of  Romulus ;  who  possessed  arts  and  civi- 
lization from  which  Latium  was  glad  to  learn ; 
who  conquered  the  Latins  north  of  the  Tiber  and 
sacked  Rome  herself ;  who  covered  the  sea  with 
her  ships,  and  gloried  in  the  riches  of  Syria  and 
Egypt.  I  thought  of  this  as  the  little  train  puffed 
upwards,  and  of  how  many  years  I  had  desired 
to  penetrate  the  Cimminian  Hills,  which  for  so 
long  held  off  Rome  from  the  heart  of  Etruria. 
In  those  fastnesses  lay,  I  knew,  the  ruins  of  her 
ancient  cities,  untouched  for  two  thousand  years, 
and  the  strange  mediaeval  towns  which  ofttime 
rose  upon  their  sites. 

Upon  the  smiling  Campagna  in  this  beautiful 
April  morning  it  was  very  difficult  to  realize  that 
here  Rome  and  Etruria  struggled  so  long  for 
the  mastery ;  that  over  yonder  lay  the  insignifi- 
cant ruins  of  once  mighty  Veil.  Only  one  or  two 
villages  appeared  in  the  distance,  lying  in  dun- 
colored  spots  upon  their  hillsides.  As  we  left 
Rome  farther  behind,  the  farms  and  villas  grad- 
ually disappeared;  the  smile  left  the  country. 
But  the  glorious  blue  vault  of  heaven  remained 
as  blue,  and  the  Sabine  Mountains  continued  to 
loom  across  the  Campagna,  with  their  snow  peaks 
in  the  rear.  The  fields  became  barren,  covered 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  3 

with  a  short  brown  grass,  and  smoothed  them- 
selves out  to  greater  vistas  as  we  mounted  the 
hills  which  inclose  the  Lake  of  Bracciano. 
Soon  there  appeared  to  the  southeast  only  a  vast 
level  plain,  uncovered  by  trees,  desolate,  riven 
here  and  there  by  fissures  and  ravines ;  from  it 
there  arose  a  solitary  mound  in  the  far  distance, 
soaring  beautifully  toward  the  sky,  topped  by  a 
cupola.  It  was  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  all  that 
there  was  of  Rome,  seen  for  the  last  time.  It 
made  me  sad  to  think  of  the  happy  hours  spent 
there,  and  the  friends  beneath  its  shadow,  whom 
I  was  leaving  behind. 

I  turned  away  and  looked  forward  for  a  happier 
sight,  a  sight  of  Bracciano  on  its  hill  above  the 
lake.  It  was  to  be  my  first  stopping-place.  Brac- 
ciano bears  no  remains  of  Etruria ;  it  is  strictly 
mediaeval,  and  is  to  be  seen  for  its  great  castle  of 
the  Orsini.  Here  the  Orsini  came  in  the  fifteenth 
century  when  driven  by  the  Colonna  from  a  cap- 
tured stronghold,  and  erected  a  castle  so  huge 
and  impregnable  that  the  Colonna  were  unable 
afterwards  to  take  it.  These  wars  of  the  great 
families  of  mediaeval  Rome  were  much  like  wars 
between  states.  The  Orsini,  the  Colonna,  the 
Frangipani,  the  Corsini,  had  their  palatial  strong- 
holds in  Rome  itself,  and  erected  about  the  coun- 
try on  their  estates  fortified  residences  which 
they  attacked  and  captured  from  each  other  in 
turn.  Most  of  these  edifices  have  crumbled  away 


4  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

or  been  demolished ;  this  of  Bracciano  was  never 
sacked  in  battle,  and  has  been  singularly  pre- 
served in  modern  times. 

I  looked  eagerly  for  a  glimpse  of  its  towers  as 
we  approached  the  lake,  and  was  soon  rewarded 
by  a  view  remarkable  for  its  loveliness.  Through 
an  opening  in  the  hills  Bracciano  appeared,  upon 
its  hill,  clustering  about  the  gigantic  pile  of 
towers  and  parapets  which  constitute  the  castle, 
—  houses  clambering  white  up  the  rock,  roof-tops 
mounting,  yellow  with  lichen-grown  tiles,  to  the 
gray  walls  of  the  fortress ;  these  soaring  ponder- 
ously to  machicolated  parapet  and  tower-head. 
Beyond,  the  deep  blue  waters  of  the  lake,  far 
beneath. 

After  luncheon  at  an  albergo  of  the  true  Ital- 
ian country  style,  I  walked  down  and  up,  through 
the  winding  narrow  streets  of  the  old  town,  to  the 
castle  walls,  where  permission  to  enter  was  gra- 
ciously given  by  the  custodian.  The  family  of 
the  Odeschalchi,  who  have  possessed  the  castle  for 
the  past  century  and  more,  were  fortunately  ab- 
sent in  Rome.  They  purchased  it  from  the  Orsini 
upon  the  wane  of  the  fortunes  of  that  great 
family,  who  had  shone  resplendent  in  the  history 
of  Rome  for  six  hundred  years. 

The  entrance  to  the  castle,  cut  from  the  solid 
rock,  winds  to  the  left,  encircling  the  subter- 
ranean apartments,  and  emerges  to  the  right  upon 
the  courtyard  which  faces  the  lake.  From  the 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  5 

wall  of  the  courtyard  I  looked  down  a  vast  preci- 
pice to  the  shore.  The  fall  was  sheer  for  a  hun- 
dred feet.  Below  that  spread  olive  groves  and 
vineyards,  the  vines  just  mounting  upon  tripod- 
shaped  stakes,  and  throwing  up  bright  young 
shoots.  Above  me  rose  the  main  fagade  of  the 
building  for  another  hundred  feet,  to  the  project- 
ing parapets.  Huge  round  towers  dominated  each 
end  of  the  fagade,  with  the  entrance  in  the  south- 
ern one.  Before  me  stretched  the  Lake  of  Brac- 
ciano,  in  all  its  peerless  beauty,  deep  blue  under 
the  rays  of  the  noonday  sun.  Gentle  wooded 
hills  bordered  its  round  outline,  lighter  in  color 
at  the  base  with  the  fresh  green  of  cultivation. 
Opposite,  five  miles  away,  sat  Trevignano  upon 
its  rock,  thrusting  a  huge  donjon  tower  towards 
the  sky,  bathing  its  gray  feet  in  the  blue  pro- 
fundity of  the  water.  To  the  right  similarly  sat 
Anguillara,  dominated  by  its  ruined  castle.  In 
the  far  distance  loomed  the  peaks  of  the  Sabine 
Mountains,  bleak  and  gray.  I  can  recall  no  lake 
view  superior  to  this  in  beauty,  unless  it  be  that 
from  Bellagio  on  Lago  di  Como. 

In  the  inner  courtyard  of  the  castle,  —  fronted 
on  one  side  by  a  two-storied  loggia,  on  another  by 
a  quaint  covered  stairway  —  I  found  the  keeper, 
who  conducted  me  through  the  interior.  Open- 
ing upon  the  front  courtyard,  facing  the  lake, 
was  the  old  hall  of  justice,  with  lofty  wooden 
ceiling  and  a  semi-royal  throne  covered  with  a 


6  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

silken  canopy,  where  the  Orsini  sat  for  centuries 
to  judge  their  dependents.  I  passed  through  a 
long  series  of  mediaeval  apartments  which  are 
still  used  by  the  Odeschalchi,  —  bedrooms,  living- 
rooms,  reception-rooms,  —  all  alike  in  their  great 
stone  fireplaces,  recessed  windows  with  stone 
benches  on  each  side  of  the  recess,  and  furniture 
several  centuries  old.  All  of  the  beds  were  four- 
posted,  and  elaborately  though  rudely  carved  in 
bas-reliefs.  Many  ancient  wooden  coffers  were 
seen,  great  and  small,  carved,  filled  with  intarsia 
work  or  covered  with  hammered  silver.  Most  in- 
teresting of  all  was  the  ancient  kitchen.  As  we 
proceeded  to  this  by  dark  passages  which  wound 
in  and  out,  and  up  and  down,  with  light  from  an 
occasional  window  deep-set  in  a  six-foot  wall  and 
strongly  barred,  I  ceased  to  wonder  at  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  so  great  desire  to  visit  this  castle  that  he 
proceeded  hither  before  he  had  seen  Rome.  The 
remembrance  of  his  descriptions  of  mediaeval 
chambers  and  corridors,  dungeons  and  battle- 
ments, in  "  Ivanhoe  "  and  "  The  Talisman,"  was 
brought  vividly  back. 

In  the  kitchen  was  a  great  three-arched  recess, 
against  and  in  the  walls  of  which  were  built  the 
brick  ovens.  Above  them  hung  a  vast  array  of 
ancient  copper  utensils,  of  every  size  and  shape, 
dinted  each  in  a  hundred  places,  but  still  shining 
warmly.  The  custodian  announced  that  they  were 
still  used,  also  the  ovens,  after  an  existence  of 
four  hundred  years. 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  7 

When  I  left  Bracciano  it  was  to  mount  still 
farther  toward  the  old  Cimminian  Hills.  Brac- 
ciano and  its  lake  lie  on  the  great  slope  which 
descends  from  the  mountains  to  the  Campagna ; 
on  this  slope  also  lie  the  old  Etruscan  towns  of 
Sutri,  Nepi,  and  Civita  Castellana.  The  hills 
proper  begin  to  rise  quite  suddenly  from  the 
table-land  at  about  the  location  of  Ronciglione. 
The  little  railroad,  which  was  put  through  but  a 
few  years  ago,  sends  off  a  short  branch  line 
from  Capranica,  which  climbs  eastward  amongst 
the  foothills  to  Ronciglione. 

As  we  rolled  slowly  along,  I  noticed  that  the 
character  of  the  vegetation  had  become  wholly 
northern.  Already  we  were  at  an  elevation  of 
1300  feet  above  the  sea  level,  and  only  decidu- 
ous trees  and  shrubs  were  to  be  seen,  and  these 
but  just  leaved.  The  palms  and  the  cacti  were 
left  behind. 

It  was  dusk  when  I  arrived  at  the  station  of 
Ronciglione,  and,  seeing  no  town  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, was  obliged  to  intrust  myself  to  a  vil- 
lainous looking  vetturino.  However,  he  conveyed 
me  safely  to  the  village  a  kilometre  distant,  and 
to  its  better  inn,  which  looked  forlornly  upon 
the  street  through  its  single  room  upon  the 
ground  floor.  This  room  was  used  for  all  pur- 
poses, —  a  living  and  dining  room  for  the  family 
of  the  proprietor  and  any  chance  guests,  a  cafe 
for  the  public,  and  a  promenade  for  the  villagers, 


8  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

including  cats  and  dogs.  It  had  bare  wooden 
tables,  rush-seated  chairs,  a  low-beamed  ceiling, 
and  rough  tiled  floor.  I  soon  found  this  to  be 
the  general  character  of  the  public  or  dining 
room  in  all  Etruscan  country  inns.  During  din- 
ner the  villagers  came  in  and  walked  about  with 
their  hats  on,  smoking,  and  the  dogs  and  cats 
ran  between  my  legs. 

This  pedestrianism  of  the  townsfolk  was  more 
alarming,  however,  at  night.  Without  any  cessa- 
tion, during  all  the  hours  of  darkness,  they 
marched  up  and  down  the  main  street  beneath 
my  window,  shouting  and  laughing  in  loud 
tones,  and  singing  in  chorus.  With  the  first 
break  of  day  the  donkeys  began  to  click  their 
sharp  heels  over  the  stones,  and  bray  with  vigor. 
I  gave  up  all  thought  of  sleep  and  set  out  to  ex- 
amine the  town.  I  found  it  perched,  like  every 
Etruscan  city,  above  a  deep  ravine.  The  walls 
of  the  first  houses  served  to  continue  the  preci- 
pice ;  above  them  mounted  the  others,  tier  on 
tier,  topped  by  the  dome  of  the  cathedral  and 
the  towers  of  a  ruined  castle.  The  walls  were 
of  a  monotone,  a  dull  brownish  gray,  volcanic 
rock  darkened  by  centuries  of  sun  and  rain. 
The  roofs  were  quite  yellow,  so  overgrown  with 
lichen  are  the  ancient  tiles.  Far  below  splashed 
a  little  stream,  falling  over  the  ruins  of  a  mill. 

Ronciglione,  however,  is  but  a  stopping-place 
from  which  to  visit  Caprarola  and  the  ancient 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  9 

towns  of  Sutri,  Nepi,  and  Civita  Castellana.  Be- 
yond its  picturesque  situation  it  is  uninteresting. 
So  I  closed  a  bargain  with  my  villainous-looking 
vetturino  to  have  him  and  his  horse  at  my  ser- 
vice by  the  day,  and  set  out  at  once  for  Sutri, 
which  lies  five  miles  to  the  south  upon  the  table- 
land. No  friend  would  have  had  the  fortitude 
to  recognize  me,  as  I  jolted  along  in  this  extraor- 
dinary vehicle.  Its  age  could  not  be  less  than 
a  hundred  years,  and  all  remains  of  paint  had 
vanished  a  lifetime  ago.  It  was  broken,  patched, 
and  dirty,  and  rolled  from  one  side  to  the  other 
on  very  small  wheels,  surely  of  oval  shape.  The 
spavined  horse  jerked  it  along  by  a  pair  of  ropes. 
The  brigand  on  the  front  seat,  with  great  boots, 
wide-brimmed  felt  hat,  a  huge  whip,  and  a  cast 
in  his  eye,  completed  the  turnout,  —  which  was 
the  best  that  Ronciglione  could  provide. 

As  we  turned  a  corner  a  wide  view  of  the 
great  table-land  below  burst  suddenly  upon  us. 
Level  as  a  floor  it  seemed,  but  to  my  surprise 
beautifully  covered  with  verdure,  stretching  off 
to  the  south  indefinitely,  and  to  gigantic  Soracte 
on  the  east.  Soracte  rose  sheer  from  the  plain 
to  its  vast  height,  like  a  mighty  lion  crouching 
with  curved  back  and  bristling  head  for  a  spring 
towards  the  Campagna.  Its  isolation  gave  it 
awesomeness.  Beyond  it  stretched  the  level  val- 
ley of  the  Tiber  to  the  Sabine  Mountains,  dim 
and  gray  in  the  background.  I  realized  at  last 


10  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  reason  for  Soracte's  fame  through  all  the 
pages  of  history,  and  the  stories  and  legends 
which  cling  to  its  mighty  sides. 

But  the  lovely  green  verdure  of  the  plain  was 
a  great  surprise.  I  think  that  every  student  of 
Etrurian  and  Roman  history  must  learn  to  asso- 
ciate this  country  south  of  the  Cimminian  Hills 
with  bleakness  and  barrenness,  —  picture  it  a  re- 
petition of  the  southern  Campagna,  intersected 
by  huge  ravines.  But  here  was  a  country  as  fair 
and  softly  green  as  England.  As  we  jolted 
downwards  and  across  it,  I  found  myself  in  a 
road  like  an  English  lane,  lined  on  both  sides  by 
thick,  beautiful  hawthorn  hedges  just  putting 
forth  their  delicate  white  flowers.  Over  the 
hedges  leaned  trees  of  every  northern  type,  fair 
with  their  new-born  leaves.  The  trees  spread 
themselves  here  and  there  over  the  meadows, 
which  were  closely  cultivated,  some  freshly  tilled, 
some  with  growing  wheat  knee  high,  others  show- 
ing recently  cut  hay.  Often  the  road  ran  through 
a  cut  in  the  rock  for  some  distance,  but  always 
the  bushes  leaned  over  the  banks  and  hung  down 
the  sides,  bearing  luxuriantly  that  beautiful  yel- 
low wildflower  known  to  us  as  broom,  which  the 
natives  call  dalmaggio. 

I  could  not  realize  that  this  luxuriance  of  ver- 
dure was  Etruria,  until  we  turned  suddenly  into 
a  vast  ravine  with  precipitous  rocky  sides  and  a 
streamlet  gurgling  far  below.  It  is  curious  how 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  11 

these  chasms  intersect  the  whole  country,  show- 
ing no  traces  of  existence  till  one  comes  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  bank.  Otherwise  it  is  level, 
or  but  very  gently  rolling. 

And  the  vast  age  of  Etruria,  — :  its  great  his- 
tory, its  once  dense  population  and  extensive 
cities,  —  what  was  there  in  this  fertile  farm  land 
to  suggest  it  ?  Nothing,  until  we  came  to  a  ra- 
vine or  the  side  of  a  cliff,  and  saw  the  holes  gap- 
ing here  and  there  in  the  rock,  —  desolated  tombs 
of  the  ancients, — and  until  we  saw  before  us  Sutri 
upon  a  slight  hill,  dominated  by  its  cathedral 
tower.  We  crossed  the  ravine  from  which  its  sides 
rise  so  grimly,  by  a  bridge  of  modern  construc- 
tion, and  climbed  the  main  street  between  dark, 
gaunt,  old  houses,  passing  through  a  frowning 
gateway  in  the  wall.  An  impression  of  vast,  vast 
age  descended  immediately  upon  me.  The  walls 
of  the  buildings  were  of  ancient  volcanic  stone, 
blackened  and  furrowed  in  spite  of  its  hardness 
by  the  centuries.  Little  windows  looked  darkly 
out,  many  of  them  heavily  barred.  Narrow  side 
streets  led  winding  downward  toward  »the  ravine 
on  each  side,  passing  through  archways  like 
tunnels.  Dark-visaged  men  slouched  about  in 
the  costume  of  my  driver.  Women  peered  out 
of  gloomy  doorways,  with  infants  closely  wrapped 
in  swaddling  clothes. 

The  scene  was  brighter  when  we  emerged  upon 
the  piazza,  —  a  widening  of  the  main  street. 


12  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

The  sun  cast  in  his  warm  rays,  illuminating  the 
fountain  in  the  centre  and  a  mediaeval  archway 
with  three  bells  hung  above  it  in  the  open.  Here 
I  left  my  vettura ;  and  as  I  walked  on  through 
the  principal  street,  narrowed  again  to  gloomi- 
ness, I  thought,  —  "This,  then,  is  ancient  Su- 
trium,  perched  unchanged  above  its  ravine  — 
Sutrium  so  faithful  to  Rome  after  its  early  cap- 
ture from  the  Etruscans,  which  underwent  so 
many  sieges  and  sacks  from  both  sides  ;  Sutrium, 
the  birthplace  of  Pontius  Pilate."  A  house  is 
pointed  out  as  having  been  Pilate's.  However 
unreliable  this  tradition,  no  doubt  the  house  of 
his  nativity  is  still  standing,  somewhere  in  the 
town. 

I  emerged  from  the  southern  gate,  intact  as 
built  by  the  Romans,  and  walked  down  the  road, 
which  the  ravine  on  the  west  circles  around  to 
meet.  The  cliff  forming  the  further  side  of  the 
ravine  is  perforated  with  hundreds  of  ancient 
tombs,  where  the  Etruscans  of  pre-Roman  period 
were  buried,  —  long  since  opened  and  despoiled. 
Here  was  to  be  found  the  celebrated  church  of 
Madonna  del  Porto,  cut  by  unknown  early  Chris- 
tians from  the  interior  of  the  cliff.  Searching 
about  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  great  ilexes 
which  fringe  the  cliff  above  and  droop  their 
graceful  boughs  down  the  sides,  I  found  an  ori- 
fice closed  by  a  modern  wooden  door.  Pushing 
this  open  I  stood  in  a  rock-hewn  chamber  of 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  13 

small  size,  having  benches  at  two  sides  where 
once  reposed  the  dead.  To  the  left  an  archway 
disclosed  to  view  the  most  extraordinary  place  of 
worship  that  I  shall  ever  see.  A  narrow,  low 
nave  led  up  to  an  altar  twenty  paces  distant ;  on 
each  hand  was  an  aisle,  separated  from  the  nave 
by  eight  square  pillars.  Continuous  benches 
lined  each  side  of  the  nave  and  the  aisles.  All 
was  roughly  hewn  from  the  solid  rock,  —  nave, 
aisles,  pillars,  benches.  Windows  pierced  through 
the  left-hand  wall  illumined  dimly  this  ancient 
church,  and  showed  the  arched  roof  green  with 
the  damp  of  ages. 

No  one  knows  whose  hands,  with  untiring  de- 
votion, cut  out  this  marvel.  It  must  have  been 
done  under  severe  persecution,  when  Christians 
were  forbidden  to  worship  within  the  town.  I 
turned  from  the  place  with  a  sigh  for  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  faithful  in  those  terrible  days. 

A  little  farther  down  the  road  a  passage  cut 
in  the  cliff  led  to  the  old  Roman  amphitheatre, 
or  more  properly  Etruscan ;  for  this  probably 
was  cut  from  the  rock  before  a  single  such  con- 
struction stood  in  Rome.  From  the  passage  I 
saw  it  lying  before  me,  vast,  and  so  overgrown 
with  vegetation  as  to  be  almost  hidden.  Deep 
grass  filled  the  arena  completely. v  But  the  out- 
line of  all  the  rows  of  seats,  with  their  stairways, 
was  clearly  discernible,  and  the  dark  openings  of 
the  vomitories.  Truly  this  was  as  great  a  work  as 


14  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

building  a  pyramid,  —  to  hew  this  gigantic  open- 
ing out  of  the  solid  cliff,  to  cart  away  the  moun- 
tain of  stone  thus  excavated,  and  to  shape  the 
benches,  steps,  corridors,  arena,  inclosing  wall, 
vomitories,  and  subterranean  passages  for  gladia- 
tors and  beasts. 

It  made  me  realize  how  great  was  Sutrium 
once  upon  a  time,  —  how  great  was  Etruria. 
Only  a  large  and  rich  population  could  afford 
such  a  work,  and  carry  it  out. 

The  next  excursion  was  to  a  more  modern  relic 
of  past  ages,  —  such  a  one  as  at  Bracciano,  — 
the  palace  of  the  Farnese  at  Caprarola.  This  the 
Farnese  built  a  century  or  two  later  than  the 
castle  of  the  Orsini,  when  the  barbarism  of 
the  Middle  Ages  had  finally  given  way  to  the  Re- 
naissance, and  it  ceased  to  be  necessary  to  make 
every  dwelling  as  strong  as  a  dungeon.  Conse- 
quently the  construction  of  the  Farnese  partook 
more  of  the  nature  of  a  Roman  palace. 

Caprarola  lies  a  little  farther  up  on  the  hills  than 
Ronciglione  —  five  miles  to  the  north.  Thither 
I  proceeded  with  my  antediluvian  vehicle,  which 
never  seemed  to  break  down,  and  my  brigand 
driver,  who  never  showed  any  of  the  qualities  of 
a  brigand.  In  fact,  he  was  quite  an  agreeable 
person.  We  crawled  up  the  slopes,  passing  con- 
tinually the  omnipresent  donkey,  which  does  all 
the  work  of  the  country.  A  horse  is  very  rarely 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  15 

seen,  likewise  a  four-wheeled  vehicle.  Occasion- 
ally we  met  a  heavy  two-wheeled  cart,  with  the 
little  donkey  in  the  shafts ;  but  nearly  always 
he  was  plodding  along  with  a  peasant,  or  a  great 
load  of  produce,  on  his  back.  Sometimes  he  car- 
ried two  huge  water-barrels  or  half  a  dozen 
wine-kegs  slung  to  his  sides  with  ropes.  I  saw 
one  transporting  thus  over  a  dozen  building 
stones,  one  of  which  a  man  could  hardly  lift. 

When  Caprarola  came  to  view  I  saw  it  mount- 
ing the  hillside  above  us  in  one  long  street, 
leading  up  to  the  Palazzo  at  the  summit.  The 
power  and  beauty  of  the  position  selected  by  the 
Farnese  was  at  once  apparent.  The  Palazzo  faced 
down  upon  us,  over  the  town,  and  over  the 
whole  country  beyond,  displaying  a  most  pleasing 
Renaissance  fagade  which  rose  above  a  great 
double  flight  of  steps  at  the  head  of  the  street. 

I  left  my  vettura  at  the  bottom  of  the  steep 
hill,  feeling  pity  for  the  antiquated  animal,  and 
climbed  the  long  straight  incline  between  dingy, 
mouldering,  crumbling  old  houses  to  the  palace 
steps.  Mounting  these  I  found  myself  on  a  ter- 
race from  which  rose  another  stairway  to  the 
doors ;  and  from  the  top  of  this  second  stairway 
the  view  was  magnificent.  It  ranged  down  the 
long  dark  street  of  the  town,  over  the  yellow 
roofs,  and  across  the  great  fertile  plain  below 
to  an  indefinite  distance.  Soracte  dominated  the 
whole  scene  with  his  majesty.  Light  clouds  drift- 


16  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

ing  in  the  sky  threw  here  and  there  over  the 
smiling  fields  and  patches  of  wood  a  caressing 
shadow.  To  the  southeast  a  pile  of  dun-colored 
buildings  surmounted  by  two  or  three  towers  de- 
noted Nepi,  sleeping  in  the  plain.  Further  off, 
on  the  flank  of  Soracte  himself,  lay  Civita  Castel- 
lana. 

Caprarola  Palace  was  erected  by  Vignola,  and 
is  really  his  chef  d'osuvre.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a 
pentagon,  with  sham  bastions  at  the  angles.  The 
main  fagade  is  graceful  and  pleasing  purely  from 
the  nice  proportion  of  opening  to  the  solid  shown 
in  the  size  and  placing  of  the  windows,  and  the 
elegant,  well-adjusted  cornice.  It  is  three-storied; 
pilasters  stand  upon  the  string-courses  of  the 
second  and  third  stories.  The  windows  of  the 
ground  floor  are  heavily  barred  with  projecting 
grilles.  Within  I  found  a  beautiful  circular  cor- 
tile,  arcaded,  with  heavy  balustrades  and  double 
columns.  For  the  purity  of  this  and  for  the  truly 
wonderful  beauty  of  the  staircase  Vignola  de- 
serves great  credit.  This  staircase  ascends  spi- 
rally, at  the  southwest  bastion,  to  the  roof  of  the 
palace.  Light  drops  down  the  well  which  it  forms, 
and  illuminates  softly  the  graceful  double  columns 
which  carry  it  upward,  and  the  rich  balustrade 
and  cornices. 

The  great  halls  of  the  second  story  are  covered 
with  frescoes  by  the  brothers  Zuccari,  interest- 
ing more  for  their  significance  than  their  beauty. 


CAPRAROLA    PALACE 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  17 

Now  and  then  a  figure  is  found  of  true  power 
and  execution.  The  pictures  portray  the  striking 
incidents  in  the  history  of  the  Farnese,  and  apos- 
trophize their  strength  and  glory.  One  is  very 
interesting  for  its  portraits,  illustrating  the  mar- 
riage of  Orazio  Farnese  with  Diane,  daughter  of 
Henri  II.  of  France,  and  containing  the  figures, 
besides  the  contracting  parties  and  King  Henri, 
of  Henry  of  Navarre,  Catherine  de  Medici,  the 
Due  de  Guise,  Prince  de  Cond^,  Madame  de 
Montpensier,  Mademoiselle  de  Rohan,  and  many 
others. — The  palace  backs  upon  a  very  pretty 
garden,  entered  by  a  bridge  over  the  moat,  where 
shady  avenues  lead  from  the  bright  sunlight  be- 
neath ilexes  and  cypresses. 

I  drove  back  to  Ronciglione  feeling  that  I  en- 
vied the  members  of  the  Caserta  family,  who  now 
own  the  palace;  I  envied  them  those  beautiful 
flowery  gardens  and  that  marvelous  view.  And 
yet  they  come  but  once  in  several  years  to  occupy 
it,  in  the  month  of  October,  as  is  the  way  of 
most  Roman  families  with  their  country  places. 

The  next  day  it  rained,  and  I  was  shut  up  all 
the  morning  in  my  dismal  little  inn,  with  the 
dogs  and  the  cats  and  all  insects  that  crawl  or 
fly  or  leap.  It  brightened  for  a  while  after  lunch, 
and  I  instantly  sent  for  my  vettura  and  started 
for  Civita  Castellana,  determined  to  escape  from 
the  company.  By  the  time  we  had  descended  the 
hills  to  the  plain  the  rain  came  down  again.  So 


18  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

we  plodded  along  through  it,  up  and  down  the 
gentle  swells  of  the  ground,  passed  through  Nepi 
like  a  dream,  seeing  but  a  vague  outline  of  build- 
ings in  the  downpour,  and  arrived  at  Civita  in 
three  hours.  Civita  was  as  primitive  as  Ronci- 
glione,  except  for  the  possession  of  a  few  build- 
ings plastered  without  in  modern  Italian  fashion. 
The  only  room  that  I  could  procure  in  the  place 
was  in  a  private  house,  for  the  little  inn  was  filled 
with  soldiers;  I  felt  that  in  these  archaic  sur- 
roundings I  should  be  glad  to  have  shelter  at  all. 
Next  morning  the  clouds  had  vanished  and  the 
sun  shone  once  more  in  his  glory.  Walking 
about  Civita  I  found  it  perched,  of  course,  on  an 
eminence  between  two  vast  ravines  which  circle 
about  on  the  north  and  south  sides  and  meet  on 
the  east.  On  the  west  side,  where  we  had  entered, 
an  ancient  fosse  connects  the  ravines,  crossed  by 
a  bridge  at  the  fortress.  This  fortress  or  castle 
was  built  by  Pope  Alexander  VI.  about  1500, 
from  the  designs  of  Antonio  da  Sangallo  the 
elder.  It  is  a  plain  round  citadel,  surrounded  by 
high  walls.  My  first  view,  however,  was  of  the 
ravine  to  the  north,  which  in  the  early  morning 
was  filled  with  mist.  The  sun's  growing  strength 
drove  this  hither  and  thither  in  dense  clouds, 
parted  them,  disclosed  sudden  views  of  trees 
growing  far,  far  below,  —  and  finally  expeUed 
them  in  flying  masses  to  the  sky.  Then  a  won- 
derful sight  was  unveiled.  The  great  chasm  lay 


THE   RAVINE  — CI VITA   CASTELLANA 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  19 

at  my  feet,  precipices  of  bare  rock  falling  from 
the  house  walls  to  the  green  trees  at  the  bottom, 
amongst  which  splashed  in  boulders  a  consider- 
able stream.  This  made  a  beautiful  cascade  a 
little  farther  to  the  west.  The  rock  walls  of  the 
chasm  were  perforated  everywhere  with  black 
holes,  —  Etruscan  tombs,  —  to  which  tiny  foot- 
paths must  scramble,  though  not  discernible.  A 
single  bridge  crossed  the  ravine,  in  three  mighty 
leaps,  a  gigantic  construction  of  the  popes  two 
centuries  ago.  Crossing  this,  I  viewed  Civita  as 
a  whole,  rising  compact  from  the  walls  of  the 
chasm,  piling  brown  and  dingy  in  a  complicated 
mass  to  the  heavy  Duomo  tower.  I  saw  it  un- 
changed from  its  reconstruction  about  the  seventh 
or  eighth  century,  and  probably  about  the  same 
as  it  looked  —  save  for  the  campanile  —  in  Roman 
times.  Then  it  was  the  old  Etruscan  town  of 
Fallerium,  existing  from  time  immemorial,  secure 
from  assaults  of  all  ordinary  enemies.  But  the 
Romans  captured  it  in  B.  c.  296  under  Camillus, 
and  it  must  have  been  the  greatest  feat  of  that 
remarkable  general.  In  B.  c.  214  the  town  re- 
volted, was  recaptured,  and  then  destroyed.  This 
destruction  tells  the  tale  of  its  comparative  im- 
pregnability; the  Romans  could  not  afford  another 
such  revolt.  They  then  did  such  a  thing  as  they, 
and  no  other  people,  could  do :  they  selected 
a  site  for  a  new  city  upon  the  level  plain  three 
miles  to  the  northwest,  surrounded  it  with  a  low 


20  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

wall,  for  looks  and  not  for  defense,  and  removed 
the  inhabitants  of  Fallerium  bodily  thither.  The 
new  town  kept  the  old  name.  It  existed  prosper- 
ously until  the  fall  of  the  Roman  power  under 
the  Goths  and  Huns,  when,  being  easily  cap- 
tured and  sacked  by  whatsoever  vandal  enemy 
came  along,  the  population  returned  for  safety 
to  the  ancient  site ;  and  thus  old  Fallerium  arose 
from  its  ashes,  but  under  the  name  of  Civita 
Castellana  (or  "  Castellated  City  ")  in  distinction 
from  the  Fallerium  on  the  plain. 

Recrossing  the  bridge  after  indulging  in  these 
memories,  I  wandered  about  through  the  gloomy, 
dirty  streets,  the  population  gazing  upon  my 
modern  clothes  with  wonder  and  often  following 
for  a  distance.  They  had  not  much  distinction 
of  costume  themselves,  being  dressed  mainly  in 
rags  and  tatters;  I  noticed,  however,  that  the 
bakers  all  wore  a  very  peculiar  cap,  like  a  Turkish 
fez  in  the  color  and  the  tassel,  but  with  heavy 
folds  like  a  turban.  In  the  piazza  was  a  great 
stone  mediaeval  fountain,  evidently  constructed  as 
early  as  the  eleventh  century,  to  judge  from  the 
extraordinary  rude  griffins'  heads  from  which  the 
water  spouted  on  four  sides  into  the  basin.  Here 
the  women  were  busy  filling  jars,  made  still  in 
the  shape  of  the  ancient  Roman  amphora,  and 
carrying  them  off  on  their  heads. 

There  is  another  small  piazza  before  the  ca- 
thedral, which,  I  found  to  my  surprise,  possessed 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  21 

a  graceful  facade  with  a  wide  handsome  portico. 
This  was  erected  in  1210  by  Laurentius  Roman  us, 
his  son  Jacobus,  and  grandson  Cosmos,  —  so  the 
inscription  said,  —  which  accounts  for  its  beauty. 
Their  mosaic  work  extends  above  the  portico, 
and  over  the  high-arched  doorway,  as  a  frieze; 
it  covers  the  lintel  and  jambs  of  the  door  it- 
self, in  lovely  coloring.  Within  is  one  of  their 
excellent  opus-alexandrine  pavements.  I  found 
amongst  the  fragments  of  Roman  remains  under 
the  portico  a  block  of  white  marble  shaped  like 
a  drum,  about  three  feet  in  height,  and  covered 
with  remarkable  reliefs.  It  was  evidently  a  relic 
of  the  very  best  period  of  Roman  art,  before  the 
fourth  century,  of  which  there  are  so  few  remains 
anywhere.  The  reliefs  represented  Roman  war- 
riors and  two  women ;  the  figures  over  two  feet 
in  height,  well  proportioned,  most  graceful  in 
attitudes,  and  executed  with  extraordinary  skill 
and  detail.  They  were  of  course  somewhat  muti- 
lated and  smoothed  by  time,  and  the  faces  were 
practically  gone;  but  the  greater  part  of  the 
work  remained.  Of  what  use  this  was  made  it  is 
impossible  to  tell;  probably  as  a  drum  of  an 
ornamental  column. 

In  order  to  see  the  remains  of  the  "  new " 
Fallerium  built  by  the  Romans  in  the  plain,  it 
was  necessary  to  proceed  by  vettura.  We  ac- 
cordingly crossed  the  northern  ravine  and  drove 
slowly  across  the  beautiful  country,  which  was 


22  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

radiant  in  the  sunlight  after  the  rain.  Great 
trees  dotted  the  softly  green  meadows  and  fields 
of  grain, —  elms,  beeches,  and  oaks.  They  gath- 
ered in  copses  in  groups  of  exceeding  beauty. 
One  fancied  one's  self  in  England,  until  an  up- 
lifting of  the  eyes  found  the  Cimminian  Hills 
rising  grandly  in  the  background.  Upon  their 
crest  Caprarola  with  its  great  palace  was  plainly 
visible.  Looking  back,  the  view  ranged  beyond 
Soracte,  now  so  near  at  hand  and  stupendous, 
across  the  valley  of  the  Tiber,  to  the  vast  wall  of 
the  Sabine  Mountains,  stretching  from  north  to 
south.  Snow  peaks  glistened  over  the  shoulders 
of  the  foremost,  and  little  piled-up  towns  were 
visible  as  patches  of  gray  here  and  there. 

Upon  the  plain  before  us  soon  appeared  a  long 
wall  with  towers  at  intervals,  rising  from  the 
meadows  without  any  fosse.  It  was  Fallerium. 
The  parapets  had  crumbled  away,  and  the  tops 
of  the  towers  broken  ;  bushes  spread  themselves 
where  the  parapets  had  been,  grass  grew  in  every 
crevice,  and  fine  trees  nodded  overhead.  It  was 
a  queer  sight  to  see  this  great  wall,  however  di- 
lapidated, rising  from  a  field  of  growing  wheat, 
and  stretching  away  with  embattled  towers.  No 
house  was  in  sight,  no  living  being ;  only  the 
smiling  fields  and  elm  trees. 

Within  the  walls  was  the  same  view,  —  save 
for  the  ruined  mediaeval  abbey  of  Santa  Maria, 
built  in  the  Middle  Ages  from  the  stones  of  the 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  23 

ancient  city.  Except  this  structure  the  eye  swept 
over  only  growing  crops  and  copses  of  wood. 
Nothing  whatever  remained  of  the  considerable 
city  which  had  existed  there  for  a  thousand  years, 
—  not  a  building,  not  a  fragment,  not  a  trace 
of  a  street.  The  efforts  of  the  countless  human 
beings  who  lived  and  breathed,  worked  and  en- 
joyed, suffered  and  died  there  in  that  millennium, 
had  not  left  a  vestige  of  their  existence  behind 
them.  Yet  the  walls  which  the  Romans  had 
built  for  them  to  occupy  continued  intact,  encir- 
cling now  the  same  vacant  fields  which  they  had 
girdled  upon  construction ;  strange  apostrophe 
to  the  eternal  power  of  Rome. 

I  walked  over  to  the  ruined  abbey,  which  once 
was  prosperous  and  strong,  and  found  it  now 
used  as  a  farmhouse.  Entering  the  beautiful  mar- 
ble doorway  of  the  church,  I  saw  the  roof  fallen 
in  and  chickens  in  possession.  The  sun  poured  in 
his  rays  upon  the  graceful  arches  of  the  nave, 
which  for  hundreds  of  years  was  occupied  by 
cowled  monks  singing  in  gloom,  and  now  is  the 
hennery  of  a  farmhouse.  Truly  the  wheel  of 
fortune  does  turn,  be  it  ever  so  slow. 

Returning  to  Civita,  I  had  lunch  and  proceeded 
to  Nepi,  which  had  been  invisible  the  day  before. 
Approaching  it  to-day  in  the  beautiful  sunlight, 
I  found  myself  crossing  the  usual  Etruscan  ra- 
vine by  a  high  bridge  to  the  walls.  Beside  the 
bridge  and  towering  above  it  was  a  huge  aque- 


24  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

duct  of  two  tiers  of  arches,  built,  as  I  learned, 
by  Pope  Paul  III.  in  the  sixteenth  century.  It 
was  evident  that  the  popes  had  done  something 
for  Nepi,  as  for  Civita.  The  road  climbed  the 
side  of  the  cliff,  turned  in  at  the  top,  and  in  a 
hundred  yards  reached  the  piazza.  Here  I  started 
out  to  walk  about  the  town.  I  found  it  much 
smaller  than  Civita  or  Sutri,  both  of  which  places 
possess  to-day  about  five  thousand  inhabitants 
apiece,  whereas  Nepi  has  but  two  thousand. 
These  figures  are  but  a  fraction  of  their  popula- 
tion in  ancient  times.  The  people  of  to-day  oc- 
cupy nooks  and  corners  in  the  tumbling  dwellings 
which  once  held  five  times  their  number.  Nepi, 
like  the  other  two  towns,  is  bounded  by  chasms 
on  three  sides  and  an  artificial  ravine  on  the 
fourth.  On  this  fourth  side  alone  was  protection 
really  needed,  so  there  I  found  the  high  wall 
and  the  citadel. 

This  wall  is  still  very  perfect,  owing  to  its 
restoration  by  the  popes.  It  rises  from  the  fosse 
in  a  grand  high  sweep,  with  bastions  rounded 
and  corniced  ;  above  tower  the  walls  of  the  an- 
cient citadel,  rebuilt  as  a  dwelling  castle  by  Pope 
Alexander  VI.  and  since  again  fallen  to  decay. 
I  remembered  that  it  was  here  that  Lucretia 
Borgia  once  resided.  It  did  not  seem  possible, 
as  I  gazed  at  its  great  ruined  towers,  and  its 
walls  through  which  the  daylight  shone,  that  it 
could  ever  have  been  comfortable  enough  for  any 


THE  ANCIENT  CITADEL— NEPI 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  25 

woman  to  occupy.  Against  a  corner  stood  a  shed 
containing  a  stone  trough  through  which  water 
was  running,  and  in  this  a  dozen  women  were 
vigorously  washing  clothes,  —  a  polychromatic 
group  of  bright  reds  and  blues  which  was  a 
pleasant  relief  to  the  black  hue  of  the  ancient 
stones.  Further  on,  without  the  town  wall,  a 
stream  fell  over  the  cliff  of  the  ravine  in  the 
very  shade  of  the  castle,  making  a  beautiful  sil- 
very cascade. 

Accompanied  by  a  small  army  of  boys  who 
evidently  had  never  seen  a  stranger  before,  I 
wound  my  way  through  the  little  streets  to  the 
"  Cathedral,"  which  seemed  to  have  been  built 
over  an  earlier  construction  ;  for  in  the  crypt 
were  twenty-seven  ancient  columns,  supporting 
a  roof  which  forms  the  floor  of  the  present  choir, 
and  placed  equidistant  in  several  lateral  rows, 
like  the  portico  of  a  Roman  temple.  They  were 
mostly  plain,  some  spirally  fluted ;  but  their  cap- 
itals were  extraordinary  heads  and  bodies  of 
beasts,  of  every  kind  and  attitude,  —  a  whole 
menagerie.  As  the  sacristan  held  his  candle  aloft 
in  the  gloom,  and  these  monstrosities  mouthed 
down  upon  me,  it  was  enough  to  shake  the 
nerves.  He  said  it  was  the  legend  and  the  belief 
that  this  was  a  pagan  temple  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury, and  pagan  or  not  the  workmanship  indi- 
cated an  antiquity  nearly  as  remote. 

I  found  nothing  else   of  special  interest  in 


26  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Nepi,  and  was  soon  on  my  way  again  to  Ronci- 
glione,  which  we  reached  in  time  for  me  to  escape 
from  it  by  the  evening  train  to  Viterbo.  On  the 
way  the  reason  occurred  to  me  for  the  singular 
impression  of  gloom  and  vast  age  which  these 
old  Etruscan  cities  make  upon  one.  It  is  not 
the  filth  nor  the  little  narrow  streets,  for  these 
are  everywhere  in  Italy.  It  is  the  ancient  stone 
walls  and  fagades  of  the  buildings,  not  plastered 
externally,  as  in  towns  which  modern  life  has 
reached,  but  with  their  huge  blocks  grooved, 
furrowed,  and  blackened  by  time  immemorial. 

The  train  to  which  I  changed,  at  the  junction 
of  Capranica,  climbed  the  Cimminian  Hills 
through  fertile  fields  and  patches  of  young  wood 
in  the  falling  dusk ;  until  the  summit  was  reached, 
and  we  descended  rapidly  upon  the  other  slope 
into  northern  Etruria.  Here  was  Etruria  proper, 
in  the  great  plain  to  the  north,  separated  by 
these  hills  from  the  southern  country.  In  early 
times  these  were  densely  wooded,  and  for  many 
years  held  off  the  Romans  after  they  had  con- 
quered the  table-land  of  Fallerium,  Nepete,  and 
Sutrium.  I  recalled  the  old  story  of  how,  when 
the  Consul  Fabius,  after  his  defeat  of  the  Etrus- 
cans at  Sutrium,  made  known  his  intention  to 
enter  the  great  Cimminian  wood,  the  Senate  in 
terror  sent  special  messengers  to  forbid  it. 

On  we  sped,  into  the  heart  of  old  Etruria, 
into  the  broad  plain  where  Viterbo  nestles  in 


SOUTHERN  ETRURIA  27 

the  centre,  —  one  great  Etruscan  city  which 
retained  its  vigor  after  the  fall  of  Rome  and 
through  the  Middle  Ages,  and  drew  the  popes 
to  it  for  its  adornment;  which  felt  the  Renais- 
sance, after  making  use  of  the  Gothic,  —  Viterbo, 
celebrated  of  old  as  "  the  city  of  beautiful  foun- 
tains and  beautiful  women."  Soon  the  lights  of 
the  station  enveloped  us,  and  I  felt  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  that  I  had  reached  civilization  once 
more ;  by  which  I  mean  the  comforts  and  con- 
veniences of  modern  life.  For,  according  to  re- 
port, in  the  two  or  three  years  since  the  railroad 
to  Rome  was  completed  Viterbo  has  taken  a 
great  bound  in  this  respect.  And  true  enough, 
I  descended  from  the  vettura  at  a  hotel  well 
lighted  with  gas,  saw  through  a  glass  partition 
a  large,  bright  dining-room  where  people  were 
eating  at  individual  tables,  and  was  conducted 
to  a  comfortable,  well-furnished  room. 


CHAPTER  II 

VITERBO   AND   ITS   ENVIRONS 

LOOKING  out  of  the  window  in  the  morning,  I 
saw  the  main  street  of  Viterbo  before  me  (called, 
like  the  main  street  of  every  Italian  town,  the 
Corso  Vittorio  Emmanuele),  fronted  by  large 
buildings  with  plastered  fagades,  heavy  cornices, 
and  heavy  stone-work  about  the  doorways  and 
windows.  I  saw  carved  string-courses,  huge  rus- 
ticated arches,  and  arches  over  windows  cut  in 
Komanesque  patterns.  The  street  was  not  over 
twenty  feet  wide,  from  wall  to  wall,  and  all  this 
stone-work  protruded  from  the  stucco  in  a  very 
ponderous  fashion.  To  the  right  the  vista  ended 
with  a  great  medieval  tower  but  a  hundred 
paces  distant.  To  the  left  the  vista  ended  with 
a  similar  tower,  rising  to  a  vast  height,  un- 
pierced  by  windows,  and  topped  by  two  bells 
swinging  in  an  iron  frame. 

This  was  truly  delightful.  It  seemed  like 
Germany  of  old,  —  Nuremburg,  or  Augsburg, 
or  Regensburg,  —  rather  than  Italy.  It  was  at 
once  apparent  how  important  a  place  Viterbo 
was  during  the  Middle  Ages,  how  populous  and 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  29 

rich,  to  build  these  numerous  Romanesque  and 
Gothic  palaces  ;  and  how  she  continued  her  pros- 
perity into  the  centuries  of  the  Renaissance,  to 
have  these  memorials  of  it  standing.  I  recalled 
what  I  knew  of  her  history,  and  remembered 
that  after  existing  for  fifteen  hundred  years  as 
an  important  Etruscan  centre  and  Roman  colony, 
Viterbo  was  taken  by  the  Lombards  and  made 
their  citadel  of  the  region.  They  erected  great 
walls  and  towers  for  its  defense,  which  are  still 
standing.  These  fortifications  drew  to  the  town 
during  the  Middle  Ages  a  large  population  from 
the  country,  seeking  protection ;  and  thus  Vi- 
terbo grew  rich,  and  her  nobles  built  palaces. 
About  the  year  1100  the  Countess  Matilda  of 
Tuscia,  into  possession  of  whose  family  the  town 
had  come,  made  the  celebrated  grant  of  it  and 
its  surrounding  country  to  the  Papal  See,  which 
is  called  the  "patrimony  of  St.  Peter."  After 
this  the  Popes  were  attracted  to  Viterbo,  and 
came  frequently  to  reside ;  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury several  were  elected  here,  and  a  number 
died,  and  were  buried,  in  the  town. 

The  remembrance  of  this  past  promised  other 
interesting  sights  than  those  from  my  window  ; 
and  after  breakfast  I  started  out  for  that  first 
walk,  which  is  so  delightful,  about  a  town  that 
one  has  always  longed  to  see.  This  was  best 
begun  by  proceeding  the  length  of  the  Corso, 
and  principal  side  streets.  Every  vista  had  a 


30  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

huge  mediaeval  tower  dominating  it.  An  end- 
less succession  of  picturesque  points  and  inter- 
esting details  crowded  upon  the  eye.  Nearly  all 
the  doorways  and  windows  were  set  in  massive 
arches  of  stone,  rusticated  or  carved  in  relief. 
Some  windows  were  shadowed  by  heavy  ornate 
lintels,  some  were  set  in  Gothic  frames;  very 
many  were  still  heavily  barred  with  ornamental 
projecting  grilles.  Large  stone  coats  of  arms 
hung  here  and  there  on  fagade  or  corner.  Often 
I  came  to  an  outside  staircase  leading  to  the  prin- 
cipal door  of  a  house,  resting  on  corbels  carved 
ornamentally  or  shaped  like  beasts.  Everywhere 
were  embellished  balustrades,  parapets,  and  bal- 
conies, handsome  friezes,  decorative  cornices,  col- 
umns standing  in  the  street  upholding  a  figure 
or  emblem,  bas-reliefs  set  into  the  walls,  deli- 
cately wrought  Gothic  iron-work  in  the  shape  of 
cressets,  gates,  and  grilles,  porticoes  open  upon 
the  street,  colonnades  running  along  above,  black 
towers  frowning  down,  and  views  into  arcaded 
courts  with  splashing  fountains.  There  were  no 
special  grand  palaces  here  and  there,  but  each 
house,  insignificant  as  a  whole,  had  some  details 
which  seemed  relics  of  former  grandeur.  And 
the  Romanesque,  the  Gothic,  and  the  Renais- 
sance ran  confusedly  together.  It  was  not  as  a 
whole  the  harmony  of  beauty ;  but  it  was  cer- 
tainly the  diversity  of  the  picturesque. 

When  I  stepped  off  the  main  streets  into  the 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  31 

still  older  side  quarters  of  the  city,  I  was  instantly 
taken  back  a  thousand  years.  Here  was  the  Vi- 
terbo  of  the  ninth  and  tenth  centuries,  —  un- 
touched, unchanged.  The  little  streets  wound  in 
and  out,  and  up  and  down,  between  high,  dark 
stone  walls,  —  half  the  time  through  tunnels. 
The  alternation  of  light  and  shade  was  bewilder- 
ing. Here  a  well,  as  it  were,  where  the  sun  shone 
in  and  the  dark  houses  looked  down  menacingly  j 
there  the  street  plunged  into  gloom  beneath  an 
archway.  Thus  the  dwellings  and  towers  were 
built  over  the  way,  as  well  as  on  the  way.  In  the 
open,  arches  continually  ran  across  from  one  side 
to  the  other,  at  all  heights,  —  evidently  for  the 
walls  to  lean  upon  each  other. 

Here  were  the  fortified  dwellings  built  by  the 
nobles  of  Viterbo  in  those  dark  ages  when  neigh- 
bor fought  neighbor,  here  as  at  Rome  and  Flor- 
ence, and  a  man's  house  had  to  be  his  castle. 
The  crumbling  apartments  are  occupied  to-day 
by  the  poor,  living  in  the  best  preserved  corners 
of  the  ancient  palaces;  but  the  towers  still  stand, 
too  strong  to  fall,  perhaps  broken  away  at  the 
top  where  the  parapet  was,  whence  they  used  to 
pour  down  arrows  and  stones  and  boiling  water. 
These  towers  seem  countless.  Evidently  a  man's 
family  was  not  safe  in  those  days  unless  it  had  a 
donjon  to  retreat  to. 

But  all  these  scenes  of  antiquity  and  ruin  were 
not  desolated  by  silence.  Sounds  of  a  busy  life 


32  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

came  from  every  doorway,  open  to  the  street. 
Within,  where  the  retainers  of  a  noble  family  used 
to  stand  in  pride,  now  worked  the  carpenter  at 
his  trade,  or  the  shoemaker,  or  the  smith.  The 
sounds  of  wheels  turning,  saws  rasping,  iron  ring- 
ing, showed  the  present  population  of  Viterbo  to 
be  industrious.  The  families  gathered  about  in 
the  street,  before  the  doors  and  on  the  open  stair- 
ways. Children  ran  everywhere.  All  were  com- 
fortably dressed  and  seemed  quite  happy  in 
these  extraordinary  surroundings.  No  beggar 
approached  to  solicit  me  as  I  passed  along ;  which 
was  quite  different  from  other  places.  I  ascribed 
the  difference  in  temperament  and  industry  of 
these  people  from  those  further  south  to  the  dif- 
ference in  climates.  Viterbo's  high  altitude  of 
about  thirteen  hundred  feet  gives  it  a  truly  north- 
ern temperature.  In  this  month  of  April  the  trees 
had  just  come  out,  —  which  are  of  our  northern 
varieties,  —  and  it  was  quite  cool,  sometimes  cold. 
The  winters  are  fairly  severe.  One  could  not  ex- 
pect to  find  here  the  sloth  and  carelessness  of 
the  south. 

Several  days  were  spent  by  me  at  Viterbo,  very 
pleasantly.  The  first  visits  to  special  objects  of 
interest  took  me  to  the  piazza,  and  the  cathedral, 
and  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Verita. 
The  piazza  lies  just  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  at 
the  southern  end  of  the  Corso,  which  runs  thence 
towards  the  northern  gate.  Encircling  the  piazza 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  33 

on  three  sides  lies  the  Palazzo  Municipale,  with 
a  large  graceful  arcade  on  the  first  story  of  the 
western  fagade.  This  portico  with  its  round 
arches  and  good  proportions  bears  the  mark  of 
the  Renaissance  j  and  I  found  that  it  was  erected 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  At  the  angles  of  the 
wings  of  the  palazzo  stand  detached  columns, 
bearing  stone  lions ;  and  on  the  corners  hang 
huge  papal  coats  of  arms.  Passing  through  the 
arcade  I  found  a  courtyard  in  the  rear  facing 
out  to  the  west  over  a  valley  below,  through 
which  runs  the  little  river  of  the  town.  Beyond 
the  vale  lay  vacant  fields  once  filled  with  houses, 
and  beyond  the  view  ranged  out  to  the  green 
undulating  country  far  away.  To  the  south  rose 
the  domed  cathedral  on  its  hill  sheer  from  the 
river  bank.  In  the  courtyard  were  fountains,  and 
a  number  of  Etruscan  sarcophagi  with  mutilated 
stone  figures  resting  upon  them.  It  was  star- 
tling, just  for  a  moment,  to  see  these  ancient 
personages  reclining  about  upon  their  bent  arms 
and  regarding  me ;  it  was  the  touch  needed  to 
remind  one  that  all  this  city  came  from  these 
Etruscans,  twenty-five  centuries  ago. 

Within  the  palace  is  a  little  municipal  museum, 
in  which  there  is  nothing  of  special  interest  except 
a  pieta  by  Sebastiano  del  Piombo,  —  a  most  ad- 
mirable work,  with  a  skillful  moonlight  effect. 
This  painting  is  also  interesting  because  the 
drawing  is  ascribed  to  Michael  Angelo. 


34  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  went  on  to  the  Duomo  upon  its  hill  in  the 
southwest  corner  of  the  city.  The  little  piazza 
before  it  was  sunlit  and  deserted.  On  one  side 
was  the  plain  fagade  of  the  cathedral,  with  a 
handsome  high  campanile  having  several  tiers  of 
Gothic  arches  in  its  upper  part,  and  constructed 
there  also  in  layers  of  white  and  dark  stone. 
There  is  so  very  little  Gothic  anywhere  in  Italy 
that  it  is  always  interesting  to  find.  Facing  the 
piazza  on  each  side  of  the  cathedral  were  ruined 
palaces.  That  on  the  right  I  knew  to  be  the 
former  habitation  of  the  popes  while  residing 
here;  the  main  section  of  it,  stretching  along 
parallel  with  the  nave  of  the  Duomo,  was  recently 
whitewashed,  and  showed  but  a  broad  flight  of 
stairs  leading  to  the  arched  entrance  at  the  east 
end.  Adjoining  this,  and  resting  upon  an  arch- 
way supported  by  a  single  great  column,  was  a 
roofless  chamber,  with  a  colonnade  of  Gothic 
arches  on  its  fagade.  This  was  the  room  in  which 
Pope  John  XXI  was  killed  by  the  fall  of  the 
ceiling  in  1277.  A  strange  fate  for  a  Pope,  — 
and  he  had  been  elected  only  the  year  previous. 
That  was  six  hundred  years  ago  —  and  the  ceil- 
ing is  still  unroofed ;  it  made  the  tragedy  very 
real  to  me.  The  chamber  has  since  then  had  its 
beautiful  Gothic  windows  filled  in  with  bricks 
and  stone ;  but  some  of  these  have  tumbled  out 
again. 

The  fate  of  John  XXI  reminded  me  of  the 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  35 

other  historical  incident  for  which  this  little  piazza 
—  so  out-of-the-way,  so  quiet,  and  so  deserted  — 
is  famous.  It  is  the  spot  where  the  centuries  of 
struggle  between  popes  and  emperors  for  the 
mastery  first  resulted  in  a  decisive  victory  for 
the  papacy,  —  where  a  Holy  Roman  Emperor 
made  submission  to  a  Pope  as  a  vassal  to  an  over- 
lord. This  Pope  was  Hadrian  IV,  the  only 
Englishman  who  ever  wore  the  tiara  ;  he  forced 
the  Emperor,  Frederick  I,  to  hold  his  stirrup 
while  dismounting.  I  could  fairly  see  the  crowd 
filling  the  piazza,  —  men-at-arms  holding  it  back 
with  pole-axes,  the  gay  cavalcade  which  followed 
the  monarchs  pushing  in  with  champing  bits  and 
flashing  cuirasses,  the  waving  of  pennons,  the 
glittering  of  the  sunlight  on  helmet  and  sword 
and  shield,  —  and  could  fairly  feel  the  astonished, 
awe-struck  hush  which  fell  upon  the  multitude 
when  the  mighty  emperor  suddenly  stepped  for- 
ward and  held  the  stirrup  of  the  mailed  and 
haughty  Pope.  The  same  walls  which  saw  that 
scene  still  looked  down  upon  the  piazza,  but  the 
actors  had  been  dead  eight  hundred  years. 

I  entered  the  old  papal  palace,  and  found  a 
great  hall,  of  imposing  breadth  and  height,  the 
ancient  timbered  ceiling  still  over  it.  This  was 
where  the  cardinals  held  their  conclaves  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  and  where  three  popes,  in- 
cluding John  XXI,  were  elected.  The  hall  was 
now  quite  bare,  even  of  furniture ;  but  I  could 


36  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

easily  imagine  the  excitement,  and  whispering, 
and  electioneering,  and  suspense  of  those  red- 
robed  gatherings. 

The  interior  of  the  cathedral  was  noticeable  for 
its  Romanesque  arches  separating  aisles  from 
nave,  which  were  erected  in  the  twelfth  century. 
The  capitals  of  the  columns  were  of  the  usual 
Romanesque  carving,  —  queer  diversions  of  the 
Ionic  and  Corinthian  orders,  with  images  of 
distorted  beasts. 

From  the  Duomo  I  walked  up  through  the 
old  byways  of  the  town  to  its  eastern  gate. 
Passing  between  dark  heavy  walls,  and  huge 
arched  doorways  —  gloomy  within  —  where  chil- 
dren played,  women  sewed  and  men  worked,  and 
under  arches  and  tunnels,  I  emerged  at  length 
from  the  gate  upon  an  open  space  without  where 
stands  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Verita. 
From  here  I  had  a  good  view  of  the  old  Longo- 
bard  walls  of  Viterbo.  They  curved  away  on  each 
hand  for  a  long  distance,  high  and  grim,  with 
battlements  and  towers  still  bare  and  menacing, 
uncovered  by  any  growth  of  vegetation.  In  these 
days,  when  nearly  every  city  has  razed  its  ancient 
walls  in  order  to  make  room  for  streets  and  park- 
ways, it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  gaze  upon  these 
fortifications  of  the  Middle  Ages  so  perfectly 
preserved.  One  of  the  towers  was  afterwards 
pointed  out  to  me  as  the  identical  one  on  which 
the  beautiful  Galliana  was  killed.  She  was  so  fair 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  37 

that  she  was  the  cause  of  a  war  between  Rome 
and  Viterbo  in  the  twelfth  century.  While  the 
Romans  were  besieging  Viterbo  they  finally  tired 
of  the  attempt  to  scale  its  high  walls,  and  offered 
to  depart  if  given  one  sight  of  Galliana.  The 
maiden,  regardless  of  the  risk  to  her  lif  e,  insisted 
upon  exposing  herself  in  order  to  end  the  strife ; 
she  appeared  upon  the  tower  which  still  bears  her 
name,  and  was  instantly  pierced  by  an  arrow  from 
the  enemy.  Her  tomb  I  saw  in  the  fagade  of  the 
church  of  St.  Angelo,  fronting  the  main  piazza. 

In  the  church  of  S.  Maria  della  Verita,  now 
used  as  a  hall,  I  found  some  remarkable  frescoes 
by  an  artist  of  the  fifteenth  century,  who  is  little 
known,  —  Lorenzo  da  Viterbo.  They  covered  the 
walls  and  ceiling  of  a  chapel,  representing  inci- 
dents in  the  life  of  the  Virgin,  with  saints  and 
prophets.  Considering  the  year  of  their  compo- 
sition, 1469,  they  are  extraordinary,  for  their 
perspective,  action,  expression  of  thought  and  in- 
dividuality, and  execution.  They  place  this  Lo- 
renzo in  the  front  rank  of  the  masters  of  that 
period.  His  lack  of  fame  is  probably  due  to  the 
absence  of  other  works  from  his  hand. 

The  other  important  churches  of  Viterbo  are 
few  in  number.  In  S.  Francesco  are  to  be  found 
but  the  tombs  of  two  of  the  popes  who  died  here ; 
S.  Giovanni  in  Zoccoli  is  a  picturesque  eleventh- 
century  edifice  of  real  Romanesque,  in  columns, 
arches,  capitals,  doorways,  and  general  plan.  It  is 


38  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

rare  to  find  such  a  building,  for  times  were  so  dis- 
turbed and  people  so  poor  in  Romanesque  days, 
that  churches  usually  ran  into  the  Gothic  before 
they  were  completed. 

I  went  to  S.  Rosa  to  visit  the  tomb  of  this  saint, 
the  patroness  of  the  city.  In  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury she  raised  the  citizens  of  Viterbo  against  the 
Emperor  Frederick  II,  who  subsequently  sent  her 
into  exile,  where  she  died.  Her  body  is  reverently 
preserved  in  the  church,  although  blackened  by 
a  fire  some  few  hundred  years  ago  which  de- 
stroyed the  building  where  it  then  lay,  but  could 
not  burn  Santa  Rosa.  While  wandering  about 
the  nave  one  of  those  tottering  old  men  ap- 
proached me  who  are  found  nowhere  but  in  and 
about  Italian  churches,  ragged,  toothless,  and  de- 
cayed, living  upon  the  soldi  which  they  pick  up 
from  the  traveler  or  alms-giver.  In  quavering 
voice  he  asked  if  I  wished  to  see  the  body  of 
Santa  Rosa,  and  upon  receiving  an  affirmative 
reply  led  me  to  a  side  chapel  behind  the  altar  of 
which  was  a  high  grille  set  in  the  wall,  and  be- 
hind the  grille  some  closed  wooden  doors.  The 
old  man  pulled  a  cord  which  hung  at  one  corner; 
a  bell  sounded  afar ;  and  in  a  minute  the  wooden 
doors  folded  back  and  a  room  appeared,  with  a 
large  gilt  sarcophagus  in  the  centre,  illuminated 
by  a  dozen  candles  placed  about.  The  front  of 
the  sarcophagus  was  of  glass,  displaying  within 
the  body  of  the  saint  peacefully  resting,  the  hands 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  39 

and  face  somewhat  shrunken  and  quite  black.  It 
was  most  richly  clothed,  and  all  of  the  fingers 
were  covered  with  precious  stones.  The  face, 
dead  now  for  nearly  seven  hundred  years,  still 
showed  signs  of  beauty.  A  nun  who  stood  be- 
side the  sarcophagus  passed  out  to  me  through 
the  bars  a  piece  of  small  white  rope,  which,  I 
knew  from  the  custom,  had  been  laid  upon  the 
sarcophagus  and  was  therefore  supposed  to  pos- 
sess remarkable  healing  powers.  Many  instances 
are  related  of  wonderful  cures  effected  by  one  of 
these  strands.  Faith  will  do  anything. 

Without  the  northern  gate  of  Viterbo  the  citi- 
zens have  recently  constructed  upon  a  limited 
plateau  a  park,  with  graveled  walks,  fountains, 
basins,  flower-beds,  and  thickly  set  trees.  Here  I 
found,  to  my  pleasure,  our  northern  horse-chest- 
nut tree,  just  in  full  bloom,  and  our  locust,  and 
quite  a  variety  of  maples.  It  was  a  glimpse  of 
home.  The  people  came  out  here  in  great  num- 
bers on  warm  afternoons.  The  perfect  beauty  of 
the  parkways  made  me  think  what  a  beautiful 
city  could  be  built  to-day  in  this  region,  with  its 
luxuriance  of  verdure.  But  the  inhabitants  cling 
tenaciously  to  their  ancient  towns  and  dwellings, 
crumbling  and  black  with  the  filth  of  centuries. 

The  people  of  Viterbo  cling  also  to  their  ancient 
customs.  To-day,  just  as  in  the  time  of  the  popes 
six  hundred  years  ago,  they  all  close  their  shops 
at  midday,  and  remain  with  doors  and  windows 


40  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

barred  and  shuttered  until  three  or  four  in  the 
afternoon.  They  stay  themselves  within  doors 
during  these  hours.  The  weather  has  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  During  my  stay  it  was  quite  cool  at 
Viterbo ;  but  a  walk  through  the  streets  at  noon 
hours  was  like  a  walk  through  a  city  of  the  dead. 
Even  the  post  office  closed  from  noon  till  four. 
They  make  up  a  little  for  lost  time  by  keeping 
the  shops  open  in  the  evening  till  8.30,  and  for 
an  hour  or  two  after  dusk  the  Corso  is  thronged 
with  people  strolling  up  and  down,  or  making 
purchases,  and  the  gaslights  of  the  stores  shine 
out  brilliantly  upon  the  narrow  way. 

Here,  as  practically  everywhere  in  Italy  to-day, 
the  people  have  adopted  modern  clothes.  In  the 
country  south  of  the  Cimminian  Hills,  at  Sutri 
and  Nepi,  I  found  many  peasants  clad  in  breeches 
of  sheepskin  or  dyed  pigskin,  with  the  hair  out- 
side. And  everywhere,  including  Viterbo,  the 
ancient  storm  cloak  remains  in  use,  — long,  sleeve- 
less, of  many  folds,  with  one  end  thrown  over 
the  left  shoulder.  They  are  made  and  worn  to-day 
just  as  in  Roman  times.  On  a  cool  day  at  Viterbo 
the  streets  are  full  of  them,  topped  by  wide- 
brimmed  black  felt  hats  drawn  picturesquely 
over  one  eye.  The  old  peasants  slouch  along  with 
cloaks  at  least  a  hundred  years  old,  doubtless 
handed  down  from  father  to  son  as  the  chief 
possession.  These  peasants  live  in  their  dirty 
little  hill-top  towns,  and  walk  long  distances  from 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  41 

home  to  till  their  fields.  Nowhere  in  this  region 
of  Etruria  proper  did  I  find  farmhouses  in  the 
fields,  with  very  rare  exceptions.  The  chief  rea- 
son for  this  is  that  until  within  ten  years  the 
country  has  been  infested  with  handits,  making 
life  outside  the  towns  still  as  unsafe  as  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  And  yet  the  people  did  not  want 
the  railroad  put  through,  bringing  civilization. 
Three  times  the  inhabitants  of  Viterbo  voted 
against  the  bringing  of  the  railroad  there ;  the 
national  government  finally  had  to  force  it.  This 
resistance  to  change,  to  advancement,  to  the  pres- 
ence of  strangers,  is  felt  more  strongly  in  the 
smaller  towns,  and  those  off  the  railroad.  But 
gradually,  inevitably,  the  old  gives  way  to  the 
new. 

They  have  not,  however,  yet  adopted  the  mod- 
ern broom  nor  changed  their  ancient  food.  At 
the  smaller  towns  my  whisk  broom  excited 
amazed  interest.  The  people  could  not  conceive 
of  its  use  until  I  operated  it.  Likewise  the  land- 
ladies had  never  heard  of  a  tooth  wash,  and 
thought  mine  something  to  drink.  The  only 
form  of  broom,  large  or  small,  in  use  anywhere, 
is  made  of  green  twigs  bound  together.  As  for 
the  food,  it  is  mainly  heavy  brown  bread,  maca- 
roni, and  wine.  This  bread  has  a  crust  like  a 
board,  and  an  interior  like  rubber.  Soup  is  com- 
mon, poorly  made.  The  spring  vegetables  are 
artichokes,  which  when  fried  are  delicious ;  large 


42  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

peas,  with  a  pod  eight  inches  in  length  and  an 
inch  and  a  half  thick ;  spinach,  and  occasionally 
wild  asparagus.  The  peasants  eat  few  vegeta- 
bles. Potatoes  are  rare,  and  poor.  For  meat  they 
kill  an  ox  which  has  become  in  some  way  unfit 
for  the  plough,  or  a  goat  which  has  ceased  to  give 
milk  ;  and  therefore  you  may  imagine  how  tough 
it  is. 

These  oxen  are  most  interesting.  I  saw  them 
everywhere  in  the  fields,  ploughing  or  hauling,  of 
a  creamy  white  color,  with  great  upward-curving 
horns  from  two  to  three  feet  in  length.  The  cow 
is  used  but  little  for  milk ;  for  this  purpose  the 
goat  is  universal.  And  as  I  drove  from  town  to 
town,  the  lonely  herder  who  occasionally  ap- 
peared on  a  knoll  was  as  often  guarding  a  flock 
of  goats  as  of  sheep. 

But  the  wine  !  Ah,  there  is  the  touchstone  of 
the  life  of  these  people.  After  drinking  of  it  I 
ceased  to  wonder  that  they  could  live  on  such 
food  as  they  do.  The  wine  of  this  region  pos- 
sesses a  most  extraordinary  charm ;  nowhere  have 
I  found  any  to  equal  that  of  Viterbo,  and  Monte- 
fiascone  and  Orvieto.  That  of  Viterbo  is  grown 
upon  the  hillsides  about,  is  both  red  and  white 
in  color,  and  is  drunk  fresh,  within  the  year,  like 
nearly  all  Italian  wines.  It  is  fragrant  and 
sweet,  and  age  sharpens  it.  Yet  it  is  not  of  sugary 
sweetness,  nor  too  light ;  and  it  is  made  in  such 
quantities  as  to  be  cheap  as  water.  The  wine 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  43 

which  the  peasants  themselves  make,  and  upon 
which  they  live,  is  everywhere  similarly  delicious, 
and  abundant.  I  inquired  at  Viterbo  as  to  how 
they  cooled  it,  when  wanted,  in  summer ;  and 
found  that  the  Viterbians  never  have  any  ice, 
but  bring  down  snow  from  the  hills,  just  as  the 
Romans  used  to.  The  snow  is  carried  muleback 
in  bags,  in  the  springtime,  from  Mt.  Cimino,  with 
large  green  leaves  about  it  to  ward  off  the  sun, 
and  deposited  in  deep  wells  at  Viterbo,  which 
when  filled  are  hermetically  sealed.  In  these  wells 
the  snow  keeps  perfectly.  This  was  the  identical 
method  of  the  Romans. 

From  Viterbo  one  day  I  took  a  carriage  to 
the  little  old  town  of  Bagnaja,  not  many  miles 
away  to  the  northeast,  to  see  the  villa  of  the  Duca 
di  Lante,  celebrated  for  its  ideal  Italian  beauty. 
We  traveled  on  a  road  as  smooth  as  asphalt  and 
hard  as  stone,  macadamized,  but  the  result  of 
many  years  of  macadamizing.  Not  once  in  all 
the  drives  which  have  been  mentioned  did  I  find 
the  road  different,  not  even  in  the  distant  unfre- 
quented country  between  Sutri  and  Civita  Castel- 
lana.  This  is  the  work  of  the  national  government, 
and  shows  what  a  paternal  system,  with  high 
taxation,  can  do.  The  government  management 
and  supervision  of  the  work  everywhere  is  truly 
remarkable.  Upon  the  discovery  of  the  slightest 
disrepair,  a  force  of  men  are  instantly  set  to 
work  upon  it ;  it  is  an  ideal  country  for  cyclists. 


M  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

We  climbed  an  ascent  towards  Bagnaja,  and  I 
obtained  an  excellent  view  of  Viterbo  and  the 
plain  in  which  it  lies.  The  city  lay  with  a  hundred 
towers  inside  its  bristling  walls,  dark  and  formi- 
dable. The  plain  stretched  out  to  the  west  for  a 
vast  distance,  fair  and  green,  with  dim  moun- 
tains on  its  rim.  To  the  south  rose  majestically 
the  Cimminian  Hills,  wooded  on  their  swelling 
crests.  They  threw  out  two  outlying  mounts  to 
the  east  of  the  city,  huge  and  pyramidal  in  shape ; 
the  farther  was  Mt.  Cimino.  I  saw  Bagnaja 
ahead,  lying  upon  the  northern  slope  of  the 
nearer  mountain.  Looking  northward,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  about  ten  miles  rose  from  the  plain  an- 
other great  hill,  stretching  indefinitely  from  east 
to  west,  and  forging  up  to  a  peak  at  the  centre, 
upon  which  sat  a  little  gray  city  surmounted  by 
a  mighty  cathedral  dome.  The  hill  was  the  south- 
ern boundary  of  the  great  lake  of  Bolsena,  and 
the  town  was  Montefiascone. 

On  arriving  at  Bagnaja  we  entered  immedi- 
ately through  a  gateway  a  large  piazza,  to  the 
north  and  east  of  which  lay  the  village,  piled  up 
dark  and  dirty,  with  ancient  Etruscan  stonework 
and  with  very  narrow  streets.  The  mediaeval  castle 
which  once  guarded  the  place  still  reared  its 
great  machicolated  tower  above  a  mass  of  thick 
and  crumbling  walls.  Some  way  to  the  south  of 
the  piazza  lay  the  Villa  Lante,  rising  up  the  hill- 
side in  terraces  and  gardens  whose  ordered  beauty 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   BAGNAJA 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  45 

sustained  its  reputation  of  being  thoroughly  kept 
up  to-day,  as  so  few  villas  are.  We  drove  to 
the  side  entrance,  where  I  was  admitted  upon 
depositing  a  visiting  card.  A  servant  then  accom- 
panied me,  through  paths  winding  up  the  hill 
under  beautiful  large  ilexes,  to  the  garden  behind 
and  above  the  villa.  Unlocking  a  gate  in  the 
wall,  he  admitted  me  to  these  evidently  secluded 
precincts..  It  was  truly  a  very  lovely  sight.  From 
above  came  a  considerable  streamlet,  soaring  first 
into  the  air  in  a  fountain  a  hundred  paces  higher, 
and  from  the  basin  of  the  fountain  falling  into  an 
ornamental  stone  trough,  down  which  it  splashed 
and  gurgled  under  spreading  boughs  to  the  plat- 
form on  which  I  stood;  from  this  it  fell  in  a 
series  of  semi-circular  cascades  to  the  level  of 
the  villa  grounds,  and  was  there  conducted  under- 
ground to  another  beautiful  fountain  where  it 
rose  into  air  for  the  last  time.  Great  soft  ilexes 
and  willows  arched  the  stream  on  its  downward 
path,  and  stretched  away  on  each  side  into  a 
wood.  Before  me  lay  the  villa,  in  the  shape  of 
two  square  Renaissance  pavilions,  between  which 
sloped  a  grass  plot  adorned  with  clean-cut  hedges 
and  shrubs  shaped  into  figures.  Beyond  the  pavil- 
ions and  towards  the  town  lay  the  garden  proper, 
even  and  rectangular,  with  flowers  and  shrubs 
cut  into  patterns  beside  the  gravel  walks ;  there 
were  no  trees,  but  there  were  many  potted  orange 
plants.  The  marble  work  was  all  grouped  in  the 


46  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

centre,  where  lay  a  square  basin,  surrounding 
the  fountain  before  mentioned.  A  marble  balus- 
trade banked  the  basin,  beautiful  balustraded 
bridges  crossed  it  from  each  bank  to  the  centre, 
and  there  were  other  balustrades  rising  circularly 
tier  on  tier  to  the  bronze  figures  of  the  fountain. 
The  soft  green  of  the  shrubs  and  plants,  the 
varied  hues  of  the  flowers,  the  brilliant  white  of 
the  marble,  and  the  wonderful  blue  of  the  sky, 

/  «/  f 

made  an  enchanting  picture,  —  a  picture  of  the 
days  of  Boccaccio  and  the  Renaissance. 

From  there  I  wandered  off  through  the  park 
surrounding  the  garden,  traversing  well  kept 
walks  under  great  trees,  mostly  ilexes,  and  mount- 
ing slowly  to  where  far  vistas  were  obtained  of  the 
plain  and  the  town  below.  Here  and  there  was 
a  basin  of  water,  or  a  bit  of  sculpture.  Art  was 
hand  in  hand  with  Nature,  as  she  seems  to  be 
only  in  Italy. 

Upon  another  occasion  I  made  an  excursion 
from  Viterbo  to  find  the  ruins  of  the  once  great 
Etruscan  city  of  Ferentinum.  On  talking  with 
the  proprietor  of  my  hotel  of  this  projected  trip, 
and  of  my  inability  to  find  any  one  who  knew 
the  location  of  the  ruins,  he  stated  that  he  knew 
the  location  and  would  accompany  me,  and  fur- 
ther that  he  would  take  me  to  a  recently  discov- 
ered Etruscan  bridge.  This  is  a  man  to  whom 
the  modern  Viterbians  owe  a  great  deal.  He  had 
the  courage  to  go  there  from  Rome  when  the 


VILLA  I 


-ANTE 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  47 

railroad  was  opened  two  years  ago  and  endeavor 
to  install  a  modern  hotel ;  which,  in  spite  of  many 
obstacles,  he  has  succeeded  in  doing.  He  is 
teaching  the  people  to  eat  modern  white  bread, 
which  as  yet  they  regard  as  a  sweetmeat,  and  is 
struggling  to  overthrow  the  midday  closing  habit 
and  many  other  patriarchal  customs. 

Proceeding  by  carriage  northwestward  from 
the  city  along  a  road  lined  by  hedges  ten  feet  in 
height,  in  an  hour  we  were  fairly  in  the  midst 
of  the  plain.  There  we  left  the  vehicle,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  peasant  boy  who  was  herding  some 
cows  made  our  way  through  a  wood  to  a  deep 
ravine.  Descending  with  difficulty  to  the  bottom 
of  this,  we  proceeded  slowly  for  some  distance 
through  the  underbrush  beside  the  stream.  I 
noticed  frequent  holes  and  niches  in  the  rock 
walls  of  the  glen,  sepulchres  of  the  Etruscans, 
from  their  size  evidently  depositories  of  cinerary 
urns.  These  tombs  were  very  evenly  cut  from 
the  cliff,  —  of  excellent  workmanship.  I  ob- 
served to  my  companion  that  there  must  have 
been  an  Etruscan  city  of  some  size  on  one  side 
of  this  ravine,  and  asked  if  it  were  Ferentinum. 

"  No,"  he  responded,  "  Ferentinum  is  on  a  hill 
some  miles  away  from  here;  as  to  what  may 
have  been  on  either  side  of  this  ravine  no  one 
knows;  because  it  was  never  entered  by  the 
peasants  until  a  few  months  ago,  on  account  of 
being  a  hiding  place  of  the  brigands." 


48  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

A  little  later  he  pointed  out  to  me  a  curious 
dwelling  across  the  glen,  half  cave,  half  stone 
construction,  concealed  by  the  heavy  vegetation. 
"  Tibuccio,"  he  said,  "  was  killed  here,  a  little 
while  ago.  He  had  lived  there  for  many  years." 

This  Tibuccio  was  a  famous  brigand,  a  leader 
of  others  for  a  generation.  I  learned  that  they 
could  never  kill  or  capture  him  before,  because 
his  dwelling-place  could  not  be  found. 

"  The  two  gendarmes  came  upon  him  by  ac- 
cident, there,"  said  my  companion,  indicating 
with  his  finger.  "  They  did  not  know  who  he  was  ; 
they  were  patrolling  the  country  generally.  He 
was  sitting  before  the  dwelling  with  his  family. 
When  they  came  up  he  ran  into  the  underbrush 
and  commenced  firing.  They  returned  the  fire, 
and  after  a  while  brought  him  down.  Then  run- 
ning up  they  saw  it  was  Tibuccio,  and  blew  his 
head  off,  and  brought  the  body  to  town.  They 
divided  the  reward,  —  a  hundred  thousand  lire." 

The  recent  occurrence  of  this  incident  did  not 
make  me  feel  very  pleasant ;  but  I  said  nothing, 
and  we  kept  on.  Soon  there  appeared  at  a  nar- 
rowing of  the  ravine,  beneath  overhanging  trees 
and  almost  concealed  by  shrubbery,  a  high  bridge 
from  bank  to  bank,  constructed  of  heavy  stone 
blocks  without  mortar. 

"  This  is  the  bridge,"  said  my  companion.  "  It 
was  found  by  this  boy's  father  three  months 
ago." 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  49 

I  examined  it  with  high  interest.  A  single 
pier  of  some  thirty  feet  in  height  carried  the  two 
arches  across.  The  width  was  about  eight  feet, 
enough  for  a  single  cart.  The  material,  size, 
cutting  and  laying  of  the  great  stones  indicated 
clearly  a  very  early  Roman,  or  Etruscan,  con- 
struction. It  had  been  built  prior  to  200  B.  o., 
yet  was  perfectly  preserved. 

"  There  was  surely,"  said  I,  "  a  city  upon  the 
further  side  of  this  ravine.  I  am  going  to  see." 

Leaving  my  companion,  I  crossed  the  brook  on 
stones,  clambered  with  difficulty  up  the  steep 
bank,  and  searched  along  it.  Very  soon  I  found 
the  remains  of  a  large  wall,  partly  overthrown, 
built  of  the  heavy  concrete  which  the  Romans 
used  in  the  imperial  epoch  at  one  time.  The  wall 
was  twenty  feet  in  height  and  four  feet  thick ;  I 
traced  it  along  the  edge  of  the  bank  for  some 
distance.  When  the  bank  became  precipitous  the 
wall  ceased.  It  was  clearly  a  wall  of  circumval- 
lation  —  a  town-wall  —  protecting  a  city  which 
once  lay  upon  this  side  of  the  ravine.  This  ac- 
counted also  for  the  bridge  and  tombs.  Beyond 
the  wall,  within  it,  nothing  could  be  seen  but 
trees  and  underbrush ;  nature  had  covered  every- 
thing. My  companion  promised  to  direct  the  at- 
tention of  the  authorities  for  excavation  here.  It 
was  very  clearly  some  old  Etruscan  town,  Roman- 
ized, whose  walls  were  rebuilt  by  the  Romans  in 
the  imperial  period,  and  which  had  been  destroyed 


50  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

either  by  the  Komans  themselves,  for  a  revolt,  or 
by  the  barbarians. 

We  returned  to  the  road,  and  drove  on  some 
miles  further  to  a  headland  upon  which  lay  the 
ruins  of  Ferentinum.  This  headland  projected 
between  two  encircling  ravines  like  a  peninsula ; 
it  was  bare  of  trees,  and  ruined  columns,  walls, 
and  arches  rose  here  and  there  from  the  grass. 
Of  the  history  of  this  place  something  is  known. 
It  was  one  of  the  great  cities  of  Etruria,  rich  and 
powerful ;  was  the  birthplace  subsequently  of  the 
Emperor  Otho ;  and  was  destroyed  by  Viterbo  in 
the  eleventh  century.  We  approached  the  main 
body  of  ruins  over  the  ancient  Roman  causeway. 
The  old  paving  was  still  visible  here  and  there, 
—  huge  stones  leveled  upon  the  top  and  one  to 
three  feet  in  depth.  Several  large  Roman  tombs, 
of  imperial  brickwork,  despoiled  of  their  marble 
casing,  lined  the  way ;  these  were  undoubtedly 
without  the  city  walls.  Within  the  tombs  we  saw 
only  the  niches  where  once  stood  the  cinerary 
urns.  Two  gendarmes  met  us  here,  and  to  my 
surprise  accompanied  us  for  protection.  Walking 
on  a  mile  or  so  further,  amidst  indistinguishable 
fragments  of  brick  and  stone  which  once  formed 
portions  of  the  buildings  within  the  walls,  and  still 
following  the  old  Roman  street  with  its  ponder- 
ous paving,  we  came  to  a  remarkably  preserved 
theatre.  It  was  a  surprise  and  delight  to  find 
such  a  splendid  relic  of  Roman  work.  It  was  a 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  51 

theatre,  not  an  amphitheatre,  and  much  superior 
in  preservation  to  that  of  Nimes.  Scooped  out 
upon  a  hillside,  as  usual,  but  one  row  of  arches 
was  needed  to  support  the  highest  seats ;  and 
that  row  is  still  standing  intact,  built  of  tremen- 
dous stones  fitted  to  a  hair  without  mortar.  The 
seats  are  gone,  due  to  the  despoliation  of  the 
marble  in  the  Middle  Ages ;  but  the  ground  on 
which  they  stood  slopes  down  semi-circularly  to 
the  stage,  and  the  stage  is  well  preserved.  The 
high  wall  forming  the  back  of  the  scene,  with  the 
niches  in  it  for  the  statues  of  the  gods,  and  the 
dressing-rooms  at  the  sides,  are  quite  intact,  save 
for  the  roof.  The  stage  floor  was  crushed  into 
the  cellars  by  the  fall  of  the  roof.  The  theatre 
had  been  very  richly  decorated ;  for  we  found 
fragments  of  colored  marble  of  every  hue,  beauti- 
ful in  veining,  which  must  have  been  brought 
from  all  over  the  Roman  empire.  Exquisite  col- 
umns of  precious  marble  had  supported  the  roof 
and  decorated  the  fagades ;  and  the  pediments 
and  friezes  had  been  cut  with  splendid  reliefs. 
My  companion  informed  me  that  only  a  few 
months  ago  peasants  had  began  to  excavate  with- 
in the  theatre  and  had  already  found  one  marble 
statue,  which  was  carted  away,  when  the  govern- 
ment heard  of  it  and  put  a  stop  to  it ;  and  that 
the  government  would  itself  soon  excavate  the 
place  entirely.  Ferentinum  was  very  evidently  a 
place  of  great  richness  under  the  Roman  regime ; 


52  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  may  yield  considerable  treasures  of  art  under 
the  spade. 

The  gendarmes  reaccompanied  us  to  the  car- 
riage. My  companion  confessed  that  he  had  told 
a  friend  of  his,  an  officer  of  the  corps,  that  we 
were  going  on  the  trip.  Hence  the  protectors. 
But  that  evening  an  amusing  denouement  oc- 
curred when  the  colonel  himself  came  to  the  hotel 
and  stormed  at  us  for  going  at  all,  saying  that 
the  country  thereabout  was  still  very  unsafe,  and 
that  had  he  known  of  it  he  would  have  forbidden 
our  departure. 

Another  little  trip  that  I  made  from  Viterbo 
was  to  the  neighboring  church  of  Santa  Maria 
della  Quercia,  situated  upon  an  eminence  to  the 
east  of  the  city,  and  facing  toward  it.  It  has  a 
handsome,  though  simple,  renaissance  fagade,  in 
the  lunettes  of  which  over  the  doorways  I  found 
some  fine  reliefs  of  Andrea  della  Robbia.  The 
interior  is  remarkable  only  for  the  magnificent 
coffered  and  gilded  ceiling,  executed  by  Antonio 
da  Sangallo  the  younger.  The  sacristan  conducted 
me  to  the  adjoining  Dominican  monastery,  now 
suppressed,  in  which  there  were  two  very  hand- 
some courts,  —  the  larger  of  pure  renaissance  by 
Vignola,  having  the  arches  supported  by  piers 
with  pilasters  upon  their  faces  and  sides.  This 
was  the  beauty  of  pure  symmetry,  —  a  design 
which  has  continued  in  use  to  this  day.  The 
other  court  had  two  loggias,  the  lower  gothic, 


COURT  OF   THE   DOMINICAN"    MONASTERY  — QUERCIA 


VITERBO  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS  53 

and  the  upper,  built  at  a  subsequent  period  prob- 
ably, renaissance.  It  was  a  rare  tbing  to  find; 
and,  strange  to  say,  the  effect  was  not  unpleas- 
ing.  A  beautiful  renaissance  well  was  in  the 
centre  of  this  court.  As  the  sunlight  poured  in 
upon  it,  past  the  great  campanile  of  the  church 
looming  above,  I  thought  of  the  many  genera- 
tions of  monks  who  had  paced  these  corridors  for 
hundreds  of  years,  and  were  gone  forever. 


CHAPTER  III 

MONTEFIASCONE,    BOLSENA,    AND    ORVIBTO 

THE  very  name  of  Montefiascone  gives  the  rea- 
son for  its  being  :  "  Monte,"  mount ;  and  "  fias- 
cone,"  fiasco  or  flask ;  the  mount  of  the  flask. 
From  the  most  ancient  times  the  hill  yielded  a 
wine  superior  to  all  others  in  that  region ;  this 
supremacy  it  has  never  lost.  But  the  wine  has 
to  be  drunk  there,  upon  the  mountain  ;  if  carted 
even  a  few  miles,  it  works  and  loses  its  flavor. 
They  pretend  to  sell  it  at  Rome  in  a  few  places, 
but  it  is  not  the  same.  Thus  Montefiascone  has 
in  its  staple  product  an  attraction  equal  to  that 
of  its  romantic  history  and  its  beautiful  situation 
at  the  head  of  the  old  Etrurian  plain,  and  at  the 
foot  of  Lake  Bolsena ;  the  very  name  of  the 
wine  is  engaging  in  its  mystery ;  for  they  call  it 
"  Est,  Est,  Est." 

This  peculiar  appellation  comes  from  the  well 
known  story  of  the  Bishop  Johannes  Fugger  of 
Augsburg,  one  of  that  Fugger  family  so  enor- 
mously rich  that  they  burned  their  proofs  of  the 
debts  to  them  of  Charles  V.  This  good  bishop 
loved  wine  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world, 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    55 

and  having  plenty  of  money  traveled  in  search 
of  the  best.  A  servant  preceded  him  by  a  day's 
journey  who  was  trained  as  a  taster,  and  who  sig- 
nified to  his  master  whether  the  wine  of  any  town 
was  worthy  of  his  stopping,  by  writing  on  an 
agreed  place  the  word  "  Est "  if  it  were  good,  and 
omitting  the  inscription  if  it  were  not.  When 
the  servant  reached  Montefiascone,  after  drink- 
ing one  glass  he  went  hurriedly  out  and  wrote 
upon  the  wall,  "  Est,  Est,  Est."  The  bishop  duly 
arrived,  and  drank  so  much  that  he  died  the  same 
night,  dictating  a  will  by  which  he  left  a  sum  of 
money  to  the  town  on  condition  that  a  barrel  of 
the  wine  be  upset  annually  upon  his  grave.  This 
was  actually  done  until  recent  years. 

I  took  the  train  one  fine  morning  from  Vi- 
terbo  to  Montefiascone ;  and  we  rolled  slowly 
over  the  fertile  plain  to  the  bottom  of  the  great 
hill  upon  which  stands  the  latter  town.  The  as- 
cent of  the  hill  must  be  made  by  horse.  At  the 
station  I  found  waiting  a  little  dirty  diligence, 
and  an  ancient  broken  vettura  with  an  ancient 
broken  animal.  Choosing  the  latter  as  the  less 
of  two  evils,  we  were  soon  limping  up  the  moun- 
tain side.  As  we  rose  higher  and  higher  toward 
the  great  dome  of  the  cathedral  above  us,  which 
seemed  as  large  as  all  the  rest  of  the  town  put 
together,  the  plain  of  Etruria  unrolled  itself  to 
the  south.  Far  away  it  stretched,  fair  and  smil- 
ing, indefinitely  it  seemed  to  the  west,  and  to  the 


56  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

rounded  Cimminian  Hills  on  the  south.  Viterbo 
lay  like  a  little  gray  ash-pile  in  the  centre.  The 
lovely  white  cumulus  clouds  sailing  across  the 
deep  blue  sky  cast  here  and  there  upon  the  ver- 
dant plain  their  gentle  shadows.  I  could  think 
of  nothing  but  Dennis's  remarkable  apostrophe 
to  this  plain,  remembering  the  marvelous  history 
of  it,  with  its  buried  cities.  The  words  of  Den- 
nis cannot  be  surpassed  :  — 

"  With  what  pride  must  an  Etruscan  have  re- 
garded this  scene  two  thousand  five  hundred 
years  since !  The  numerous  cities  in  the  plain 
were  so  many  trophies  of  the  power  and  civili- 
zation of  his  nation.  There  stood  Volsinii,  re- 
nowned for  her  wealth  and  arts,  on  the  shores  of 
her  crater-lake  ;  there  Tuscania  reared  her  towers 
in  the  west ;  there  Vulci  shone  out  from  the 
plain,  and  Cosa  from  the  mountain ;  and  there 
Tarquinii,  chief  of  all,  asserted  her  metropolitan 
supremacy  from  her  cliff-bound  heights.  Nearer 
still,  his  eye  must  have  rested  on  city  after  city, 
some  in  the  plain,  and  others  at  the  foot  of  the 
slope  beneath  him ;  while  the  mountains  in  the 
horizon  must  have  carried  his  thought  to  the 
glories  of  Clusium,  Perusia,  Cortona,  Vetulonia, 
Volaterrae,  and  other  cities  of  the  great  Etrus- 
can Confederation.  How  changed  is  now  the 
scene  !  Save  Tuscania,  which  still  retains  her 
site,  all  within  view  are  now  desolate.  Tarquinii 
has  left  scarce  a  vestige  of  her  greatness  on  the 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    57 

grass-grown  heights  she  once  occupied  ;  the  very 
site  of  Volsinii  is  forgotten ;  silence  has  long 
reigned  in  the  crumbling  theatre  of  Ferentinum ; 
the  plough  yearly  furrows  the  bosom  of  Vulci ; 
the  fox,  the  owl,  and  the  bat,  are  the  sole  ten- 
ants of  the  vaults  within  the  ruined  walls  of 
Cosa;  and  of  the  rest,  the  greater  part  have 
neither  building,  habitant,  nor  name,  —  nothing 
but  the  sepulchres  around  them  to  prove  they 
ever  had  an  existence." 

With  those  beautiful  words  in  mind  I  bade 
farewell  to  the  lovely,  ancient  plain  of  Etruria ; 
and  we  turned  a  corner  which  hid  it  from  view. 
The  gate  in  the  town  wall  of  Montefiascone  was 
now  close  at  hand ;  to  the  right  diverged  a  road 
towards  Orvieto,  and  upon  this  road  I  saw  a 
hundred  paces  away  an  extraordinary  church, 
aged  and  broken,  with  a  large  Romanesque  col- 
onnade running  across  its  fagade  above  the 
deeply  recessed  Gothic  doorways.  I  knew  it 
must  be  the  famous  San  Flaviano,  the  chief  sight 
of  Montefiascone,  now  a  national  monument.  We 
drove  over  to  it.  The  fagade  was  not  handsome, 
but  it  was  quaint  and  curious  beyond  all  idea. 
The  interior  was  still  more  curious ;  it  was  weird. 
Huge  Romanesque  columns  supported  a  flat  roof 
so  low  that  it  seemed  like  a  crypt.  No  arches 
separated  nave  from  aisles.  The  only  light  en- 
tered from  the  doorway  and  from  a  square  open- 
ing in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  between  the  great 


58  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

columns.  Advancing  I  looked  up  and  saw  this 
opening  surrounded  by  a  parapet,  and  far  above, 
anotber  ceiling.  Tbere  "was  a  second  cburch 
above  tbe  lower  one.  A  boy  leaning  over  the 
parapet  laughed  at  my  astonishment.  I  then 
remembered  reading  that  this  ancient  church, 
built  in  the  eleventh  century,  had  an  extraor- 
dinarily wide  trif  orium ;  this  was  the  trif  orium, 
so  wide  on  all  four  sides  as  to  leave  but  a  well 
in  the  centre. 

Before  the  high  altar  they  pointed  out  to  me  a 
gravestone  in  the  floor,  with  a  much-worn  relief 
representing  a  bishop  with  a  goblet  on  each  side 
of  his  head.  It  was  the  tomb  of  the  old  Bishop 
Fugger.  Below  the  figure  was  an  inscription,  of 
which  I  could  make  out  only  the  "  Est,  Est, 
Est." 

At  an  inn  outside  the  town  gate  I  discharged 
the  vettura  and  left  my  luggage,  and  then  walked 
up  into  the  little  city ;  the  ascent  of  the  principal 
street  was  too  steep  for  vehicles.  On  each  side 
rose  ancient  houses  which  in  modern  times  had 
been  plastered ;  consequently  there  was  not  the 
impression  of  vast  age  given  by  the  black  stones 
of  other  Etruscan  towns.  Yet  this  had  been  the 
most  sacred  Etruscan  city  of  them  all,  —  the 
Fanum  Voltumnse,  whereunto  used  to  gather  from 
all  over  the  country  the  princes  of  the  nation  in 
council.  I  could  easily  see  that  this  high  moun- 
tain top,  isolated,  dominating  the  plain  to  the 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    59 

south  and  the  lake  country  to  the  north,  would 
naturally  be  selected  as  a  meeting  place. 

At  the  top  of  the  thoroughfare  was  a  piazza, 
about  which  were  many  shops  displaying  the  sign 
of  "  Spaccio  di  Vino,"  or  "  retailing  of  wine."  As 
I  went  on  higher  through  some  archways  and  up 
a  narrow,  winding  street,  I  saw  this  sign  on  every 
third  door.  Men  were  rolling  barrels  of  wine 
about  and  porting  them  on  wheelbarrows.  I 
came  finally  to  a  second  piazza,  before  which 
loomed  the  cathedral  with  its  gigantic  dome. 
This  dome  was  executed  by  Sammicheli  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  is  a  splendid  piece  of  work ; 
entering,  I  found  that  it  constituted  the  whole 
church.  There  was  no  nave,  nor  transept ;  simply 
the  vast  drum  of  the  dome,  with  altars  in  recesses 
upon  its  ten  sides.  It  was  a  second  Pantheon. 
The  light  came  down  beautifully  from  above,  fall- 
ing softly,  subduedly,  upon  the  rich  colors  of  the 
walls  and  altars.  The  church  was  most  lavishly 
adorned  with  colored  marble,  statues,  and  frescoes. 
A  hundred  pieces  of  sculpture  crowned  the  corners 
of  the  pediments  of  the  altars,  and  graced  the 
successive  cornices  of  the  drum.  Handsome  mod- 
ern frescoes  covered  the  rest  of  the  walls,  and 
the  whole  interior  of  the  dome.  It  was  very 
beautiful.  I  was  astonished  to  find  this  rich, 
ornate,  and  massive  cathedral  upon  such  an 
isolated  mountain-top ;  but  one  should  get  over 
being  surprised  in  Italy. 


60  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Returning  to  the  inn  without  the  gate,  I 
ordered  a  bottle  of  the  famous  "  Est,  Est,  Est." 
It  was  not  disappointing.  It  was  light  in  color, 
and  in  body,  sweet  without  being  insipid,  and  at 
the  same  time  possessing  a  peculiar  gentle  tart- 
ness. Above  all  Was  its  fragrance  remarkable, 
being  penetrating,  and  so  rich  and  powerful  that 
it  reached  the  sense  of  taste  acutely,  as  well  as 
that  of  smell.  I  sat  at  an  open  window  looking 
out  over  the  road  upon  the  ancient  gateway  of 
the  town,  watching  the  peasants  pass  in  and  out 
with  their  donkeys,  and  felt  that  I  did  not  want 
to  go  away.  I  wanted  to  remain  with  the  "  Est, 
Est,  Est."  I  could  realize  how  the  bishop  came 
to  his  end.  Upon  inquiring  whether  it  was  this 
year's  wine,  they  said  yes,  —  that  it  was  always 
drunk  fresh;  after  a  year  it  became  too  tart. 
This  is  a  peculiarity  of  nearly  ah1  the  wines  of 
Italy,  arising  partly  from  the  want  of  thinning 
the  grapes  and  partly  from  the  excessive  sun- 
shine ;  being  just  the  opposite  of  the  quality  of 
the  French  wines,  which  mellow  with  age. 

I  made  an  agreement  with  the  hostler  a*t  the 
inn,  who  had  what  seemed  to  be  a  good  horse 
and  clean  vettura,  to  take  me  to  Bolsena  and 
Orvieto;  and  while  he  was  harnessing  walked 
over  to  the  north  side  of  the  town,  where  there 
was  a  parapet  before  some  houses  looking  out 
upon  the  lake.  The  shore  of  the  lake  was  a  far 
distance  below,  at  a  steep  angle ;  thence  it  curved 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    61 

outward  and  northward  between  rounded  hills, 
and  stretched  away,  beautifully  blue,  to  dim 
mountains  on  the  horizon.  The  banks  were  cov- 
ered with  vineyards  and  olive  groves  interspersed 
with  great  oaks  and  elms,  which  clothed  the  hills 
halfway  to  their  summits;  above  were  dense 
woods  of  modern  growth.  Two  lovely  isles  slept 
in  the  deep  ultramarine  of  the  water,  unruffled 
by  any  wind.  At  the  southwestern  corner,  upon 
the  very  beach,  where  the  outlet  escaped  to  the 
sea,  lay  the  little  gray  town  of  Marta.  Further 
north,  on  a  high  hill  above  the  western  shore, 
sat  Valentana  with  its  towers.  At  the  far  north- 
eastern corner  lay  Bolsena  upon  the  water's  edge, 
below  lofty  hills,  surmounted  by  a  castle.  No 
other  town  or  hamlet  was  visible.  Vanished  were 
all  the  Etruscan  cities  of  wealth  and  power  which 
once  flourished  in  this  beautiful  basin,  —  save 
Bolsena  alone,  the  old  Volsinium. 

Returning  to  the  inn,  I  entered  the  vettura, 
and  we  drove  rapidly  down  a  white  road,  smooth 
as  a  table,  toward  the  eastern  shore  of  the  lake. 
The  road  curved  in  and  out  between  undulat- 
ing hills,  and  entered  fields  dotted  with  giant 
oak  trees.  Everywhere  were  the  vines,  sending 
up  their  new  spring  shoots.  After  a  drive  of  some 
eight  miles  through  this  charming  scenery,  with 
the  blue  lake  glistening  on  the  left,  we  entered 
the  old  gateway  of  Bolsena.  The  town  stretched 
along  the  shore  for  some  distance,  in  one  or  two 


62  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

parallel  streets,  narrow  and  dark,  crowded  with 
ancient,  crumbling  stone  houses.  Above  it  on  a 
knoll  sat  the  mediaeval  castle  in  ruins,  still  rais- 
ing several  strong  towers  in  majesty.  I  ordered 
some  lunch  at  the  one  inn  of  the  place,  —  several 
rooms  above  a  stable,  —  and  while  waiting  for  it 
to  be  cooked  proceeded  to  the  principal  church  of 
Santa  Cristina  near  the  southern  gate,  accom- 
panied from  the  inn  by  the  sacristan,  who  had 
hurried  thither  on  my  arrival.  He  carried  two 
enormous  keys  in  his  hands,  big  enough  for  city 
gates.  The  church  was  built  with  its  side  against 
a  high  cliff,  having  several  chapels  cut  from 
the  solid  rock.  The  edifice  itself  was  ponderous 
and  picturesque,  with  great  granite  Romanesque 
columns,  erected  in  the  eleventh  century.  The 
first  chapel  contained  a  very  beautiful  terracotta 
altar  executed  by  one  of  the  della  Robbias,  with 
exquisite  small  reliefs  showing  the  martyrdom 
of  Santa  Cristina.  Light  from  a  single  small 
window  alone  illuminated  this  masterpiece.  The 
reliefs  contained  many  figures,  grouped  and  exe- 
cuted with  marvelous  skill,  and  showing  genuine 
perspective. 

The  next  chapel  farther  in  contained  a  curious 
altar  shaped  like  a  baldachino,  which  was  evi- 
dently of  ancient  Roman  workmanship.  Four 
columns  of  precious  pink  marble  with  mutilated 
Corinthian  capitals  upheld  a  little  green  marble 
entablature  shaped  like  a  pyramid.  The  sacristan 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  OR  VIE  TO    63 

said  that  it  came  from  a  pagan  temple.  This 
chapel  and  altar  are  famous  as  the  scene  of  the 
"Miracle  of  Bolsena"  in  1263,  illustrated  by 
Raphael  in  his  Stanze  at  the  Vatican :  an  unbe- 
lieving priest  was  convinced  of  the  doctrine  of 
transubstantiation  by  the  appearance  upon  the 
host  which  he  had  just  consecrated  of  drops  of 
blood.  Standing  here  in  this  sepulchral  gloom, 
gazing  at  the  extraordinary  old  pagan  relic  which 
served  as  a  Christian  altar,  feeling  the  rock  floor 
of  the  cavern  under  foot  and  seeing  it  as  the 
ceiling  above,  —  I  felt  that  one  could  believe  al- 
most any  miracle. 

The  farthest  chapel,  almost  indistinguishable 
in  the  darkness,  contained  the  tomb  of  Santa 
Cristina  underground,  with  two  flights  of  steps 
leading  down  to  it.  The  sacristan  next  took  me 
to  several  chapels  and  rooms  on  the  lake  side  of 
the  church,  and  exhibited  some  frescoes  which  he 
had  but  a  few  months  previously  discovered  under 
a  coat  of  whitewash.  Some  of  them  were  in  the 
style  of  Giotto.  They  were  figures  of  saints,  full 
length,  and  superior  to  the  alleged  paintings 
of  Pinturicchio  in  an  adjoining  chapel,  which 
showed  no  traces  of  that  master's  genius.  The 
sacristan  said  that  two  experts  had  just  come 
from  Rome,  and  announced  that  the  saints  were 
truly  the  work  of  Giotto ;  but  one  cannot  always 
believe  the  statements  of  sacristans. 

After  a  little  lunch  at  the  inn,  —  at  which, 


64  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

to  the  good  woman's  great  dismay,  I  could  not 
swallow  the  macaroni  which  she  had  prepared 
for  me,  but  enjoyed  some  fresh  eggs  and  fried 
artichokes,  —  I  took  a  stroll  through  the  long 
main  street  of  th,e  town,  getting  glimpses  down 
dark  byways  of  the  blue  water  dancing  beyond. 
Family  groups  were  gathered  everywhere  in  door- 
ways and  archways ;  women  spinning  and  knit- 
ting, and  dirty  babies  playing  around.  Over  the 
northern  gate  towered  the  ruined  castle  upon  its 
hill ;  and  just  outside  it  was  a  piazza,  with  broken 
columns  and  fragments  of  entablature  placed 
here  and  there,  relics  of  the  once  great  Volsin- 
ium,  —  or  as  the  Romans  called  it,  Volsinii. 

We  were  soon  on  the  way  again  to  Orvieto, 
climbing  the  hillside  to  the  east.  Up  and  up 
plodded  the  patient  horse  for  an  hour,  till  Bol- 
sena  and  its  castle  were  a  little  patch  below  us, 
and  the  blue  lake  lay  at  our  feet  like  a  saucer. 
A  last  glimpse  of  its  beauty,  and  we  turned  the 
ridge  and  began  a  long  descent  to  the  valley  of 
the  Paglia.  The  mountains  beyond  it  to  the  east 
soon  loomed  up  larger  and  larger ;  gradually  the 
valley  unfolded  itself  before  us  to  north  and 
south.  In  another  hour  we  reached  its  edge,  and 
Orvieto  lay  below  us  on  its  hill-top.  A  more 
striking  picture  I  have  never  seen.  The  green 
smiling  valley,  dotted  with  whitewashed  farm- 
houses, stretched  between  its  steep,  high  banks 
far  away  into  the  overhanging  mountains  to  the 


OR VI  ETC,   ON   A   VAS 


•RECIPITOUS    ROCK 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    65 

south,  and  to  the  north  where  Mt.  Cetona  tow- 
ered in  a  gigantic  pyramid.  The  silver  water  of 
the  Paglia  filtered  here  and  there  through  the 
fields.  Immediately  before  us  rose  a  vast  precipi- 
tous rock,  oval  in  shape,  sheer  from  the  meadows, 
with  bare  white  sides  surmounted  by  walls  and 
battlements.  Within  the  walls,  covering  the 
whole  flat  top  of  the  rock,  was  a  confused  mass 
of  gray  and  brown,  —  houses  and  roofs,  with 
towers  rising  picturesquely.  And  in  the  centre 
of  all  these  rose  to  heaven,  far,  far  above  the  old 
brown  tiles,  a  huge  glittering  structure  which 
scintillated  in  the  sun  like  a  burnished  shield.  It 
was  the  Cathedral  of  Orvieto,  one  of  the  great- 
est works  ever  achieved  by  the  hand  of  man. 
And  the  cause  of  the  scintillation  was  that  the 
whole  vast  fagade,  facing  the  west  and  the  sink- 
ing sun,  was  one  mass  of  mosaic.  We  descended 
by  many  curves  into  the  valley,  passing  there 
a  number  of  trim,  modern,  stone  farmhouses, 
which  made  me  realize  that  I  was  away  from  the 
plain  of  old  Etruria  at  last,  in  a  region  long  since 
reached  by  modern  progress.  Through  this  valley 
was  put  the  first  railroad  from  Florence  to  Rome, 
which  is  still  the  direct  route.  Here  the  peasant 
can  now  live  amongst  his  fields  with  that  secur- 
ity which  has  been  so  long  enjoyed  in  Tuscany. 
However,  while  we  climbed  slowly  the  seven  hun- 
dred feet  of  ascent  to  the  walls  above,  I  reflected 
that  I  could  not  leave  Etruria  behind  me.  This 


66  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

city  of  Orvieto  was  one  of  the  twelve  capitals  of 
the  Etruscan  Confederation,  which  stretched  from 
the  valley  of  the  Arno  to  the  Roman  Campagna. 
On  account  of  its  isolated  and  impregnable  posi- 
tion Orvieto  has  always  been  of  great  importance. 
In  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  one  of  the  chief  strong- 
holds of  the  popes,  and  they  often  came  here  for 
refuge  and  residence.  Urban  IV.  was  living  here 
when  the  miracle  of  Bolsena  occurred,  —  the 
priest  who  witnessed  it  at  once  proceeding,  by 
the  very  road  over  which  I  had  just  come,  to 
throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  pope  and  con- 
fess his  former  doubts  and  describe  the  miracle. 
Whereupon  Urban  soon  instituted  the  church 
festival  of  Corpus  Domini,  and  ordered  the  erec- 
tion of  the  Cathedral  of  Orvieto  to  commemo- 
rate it. 

We  soon  entered  the  western  gate  of  the  city, 
and  drove  rapidly,  for  a  thunder  storm  was  com- 
ing down,  through  narrow  dark  streets  in  which 
the  people  dodged  right  and  left  into  doorways 
and  passages  at  the  loud  shouts  of  my  driver. 
There  was  just  room  enough  for  the  vettura  to 
pass.  Soon  we  turned  into  a  wider  street,  which 
I  recognized  from  a  former  visit  as  the  Corso, 
and  reached  the  hotel  barely  in  time  to  escape 
the  downpour.  I  remembered  thankfully  that  this 
was  a  modern  hotel ;  it  had  been  that  eight  years 
before;  and  since  that  time  the  tide  of  travel  has 
turned  more  to  Orvieto.  In  the  dining-room  I 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    67 

found  quite  a  number  of  ladies ;  at  my  former 
sojourn,  feminine  travelers  were  never  seen  in 
the  town. 

The  next  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful, 
and  I  paid  my  visit  to  the  cathedral.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  no  words  can  describe  the 
matchless  glory  of  the  f  agade.  As  it  towers  aloft 
in  a  great  wonderful  harmony  of  lines  and  colors, 
the  eye  and  the  conception  are  dazzled.  It  is 
some  minutes  before  one  can  distinguish  section 
from  section  and  picture  from  picture.  A  thou- 
sand radiant  hues  flash  from  the  vast  mass  of 
mosaic,  and  the  beautiful  Gothic  arches  and  spires 
seem  to  soar  with  them  to  the  sky.  Seeking  for 
details  in  the  bewilderment  of  loveliness,  the  eye 
is  first  arrested  and  captivated  by  the  tremen- 
dous rose  window  above  the  central  portal,  great 
in  size  yet  exquisite  and  delicate  as  a  piece  of 
Mechlin  lace.  It  alone  is  worth  going  to  Orvieto 
to  see.  From  a  centre  like  a  dazzling  sun  it  ra- 
diates dozens  of  shafts  which  thrust  their  points 
into  fretwork  like  an  encircling  nimbus.  Statues 
of  saints  crowd  about  in  profusion,  as  though  to 
cherish  and  protect  this  masterpiece.  Then  the 
eye  is  caught  by  the  long  open  gallery  of  trefoil 
arches  which  spans  the  fagade  below  the  window, 
rising  from  a  white  marble  Gothic  balustrade. 
Up  to  this  shoot  the  points  of  the  Gothic  pedi- 
ments over  the  doorways ;  and  below  it,  across 
the  whole  f ayade  above  the  portals,  spreads  a  vast 


68  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

stone  canvas  of  mosaic,  in  a  dozen  pictures  and 
a  thousand  colors.  One  notices  then  the  beauti- 
ful deep  recesses  of  the  doorways,  carved  like 
the  cathedrals  of  the  north;  and  from  them 
the  supporting  piers  lead  the  eye  again  to  the 
sky,  shooting  up  lightly  into  fretted  spires.  And 
between  the  central  spires,  in  the  triangular  pedi- 
ment over  the  rose  window,  is  found  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  all :  a  wonderful  old  mosaic  in 
gentle  blue  and  crimson  and  gold,  —  Christ  and 
the  Virgin  Mary  enthroned,  with  angels  making 
harmony  grouped  about. 

One  could  descant  upon  the  beauties  of  this 
fagade  for  a  month ;  one  could  look  at  it  for  a 
month.  But  after  gazing  for  an  hour  at  the  mo- 
saic and  sculpture  my  eyes  were  tired  out ;  and 
to  rest  them  I  mounted  the  broad  flight  of  steps 
to  the  platform  before  the  doors,  pushed  aside 
the  leather  curtain,  and  entered  the  dimness  and 
silence  of  the  nave.  The  feeling  of  awesomeness 
in  vast  heights  of  gloom  which  a  great  cathedral 
gives  one  on  first  entering,  enfolded  me.  Afar  off 
there  filtered  through  the  dusk  a  sweet  rosy  light, 
from  the  window  in  the  choir  over  the  high  altar. 
Great  pillars  mounted  into  the  air  and  vanished. 

The  first  impression  is  especially  the  best  in 
this  cathedral,  because  the  eyes  on  becoming  ac- 
customed to  it  find  it  rather  bare.  The  interior, 
like  the  sides  of  the  exterior,  is  built  of  alternate 
courses  of  dark  and  light  stone.  The  only  orna- 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    69 

mentation  is  in  the  choir  and  transepts,  where 
there  are  some  sculptured  tombs.  But  in  the  right 
transept  is  to  be  found  an  artistic  treat ;  for  there 
are  the  famous  frescoes  begun  by  Fra  Angelico 
in  1447  and  finished  by  Luca  Signorelli.  They 
cover  the  vaulting  and  sides  of  the  transept,  used 
as  a  chapel,  and  represent,  above,  Christ  in  glory, 
with  prophets  and  angels ;  and,  below,  the  resur- 
rection of  the  dead,  the  punishment  of  the  con- 
demned, the  descent  into  hell,  the  ascent  into 
heaven,  and  paradise.  The  last  are  large  compo- 
sitions by  Signorelli  alone,  and  are  very  remark- 
able, showing  almost  as  much  power  in  the 
portrayal  of  action,  grouping,  vigor,  and  the  nude 
as  Michael  Angelo  himself.  They  are  considered 
by  many  critics  the  most  important  work  of  the 
15th  century;  certainly  there  is  nothing  more 
vigorous,  though  Signorelli  had  not  the  power  of 
grace,  sweetness,  and  harmony  of  color  possessed 
by  Perugino  and  the  Umbrian  School. 

I  spent  other  hours  at  Orvieto  in  wandering 
about  the  mediaeval  streets,  —  not  so  mediaeval 
however  as  those  of  Viterbo,  because  half  the 
buildings  are  stuccoed,  and  many  have  quite  a 
modern  air,  with  potted  plants  in  the  windows 
and  on  the  balcony.  Still,  some  of  the  byways 
were  as  abysmal  —  lined  with  ancient  edifices 
of  worn  black  stone  —  as  any  Etruscan  city. 
Here  and  there  was  an  old  palace,  now  devoted 
to  humbler  uses,  with  angles  of  heavy  rusticated 


70  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

stone,  and  massive  archways  and  windows.  Oc- 
casionally there  was  a  balcony  of  perforated  cut 
stone,  from  which  often  leaned  a  handsome  dark- 
haired  girl,  regarding  the  stranger  with  curious 
eyes.  I  found  a  number  of  mediaeval  towers, 
rising  black,  square,  and  menacing  to  a  lofty 
height,  broken  and  wasting  away  at  the  tops. 
Sometimes  a  street  led  to  the  edge  of  the  old 
walls,  and  a  beautiful  view  could  be  obtained  of 
the  fair  valley  far  beneath,  and  the  wooded  moun- 
tains beyond.  Here  and  there  of  course  were 
churches,  with  rococo  bell-towers  which  sounded 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  but  uninterest- 
ing as  to  outside  or  inside,  except  for  the  evi- 
dences of  age. 

General  market  day  was  the  Saturday  of  each 
week,  —  I  was  there  upon  one,  —  and  then  the 
peasants  flocked  in  in  great  numbers  from  the 
valley  and  the  mountains,  driving  their  heavily 
laden  asses  before  them  and  filling  the  piazzas 
with  their  produce.  The  Corso  was  then  so 
crowded  as  almost  to  be  impassable.  But  the  old 
picturesque  element  was  gone,  with  the  passing 
of  the  village  costumes.  Now  the  peasants  were 
simply  rough  and  dirty,  with  their  boots,  felt  hats, 
black  clothes,  and  tattered  gowns. 

I  visited  the  famous  well  of  San  Patrizio,  at 
the  northeastern  corner  of  the  city,  built  by  the 
popes  in  the  16th  century  from  designs  of  An- 
tonio da  Sangallo  the  younger,  to  supply  water 


MONTEFIASCONE,  BOLSENA,  AND  ORVIETO    71 

to  the  garrison  in  case  of  siege.  It  is  undoubtedly 
the  greatest  well  in  the  world,  and  one  of  the 
queerest  sights.  Hewn  in  the  rock  to  a  depth  of 
203  feet,  it  is  forty-three  feet  wide,  and  sur- 
rounded by  two  spiral  staircases  which  wind  to 
the  bottom,  lighted  by  windows  cut  through  to 
the  central  shaft.  Upon  these  the  water-carrying 
asses  used  to  labor,  descending  by  one  and  as- 
cending by  the  other.  I  found  it  almost  as  dark 
as  night  at  the  bottom,  and  the  temperature  very 
low  indeed. 

There  are  no  remains  of  the  old  Etruscan  city 
except  the  weapons,  bronzes,  and  pottery  found 
in  the  ancient  necropolis,  and  this  necropolis 
itself.  It  lies  below  the  northwest  corner  of 
the  city,  upon  the  slope  of  the  hill,  towards  the 
bottom.  Having  been  completely  covered  with 
earth,  it  was  not  discovered  until  1874.  I  drove 
down  there  one  beautiful  morning,  passing  again 
through  the  western  gate,  and  descending  a  wind- 
ing road  under  the  precipitous  cliffs  which  uphold 
the  town.  Leaving  the  vettura  in  the  road,  I  ad- 
vanced along  a  path  under  the  trees  and  found 
a  little  girl  who  led  me  to  the  tombs,  busily  knit- 
ting as  she  went.  To  my  amazement,  there  was 
a  veritable  campo  santo  of  the  ancient  inhabi- 
tants, —  avenues  lined  with  tombs  built  of  great 
blocks  of  tufa.  Here  were  not  occasional  holes 
dug  in  the  cliff,  but  genuine  buildings,  constructed 
with  much  labor  and  precision,  standing  side  by 


72  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

side  in  a  succession  of  streets  like  a  town.  The 
doorways  had  Etruscan  inscriptions  cut  upon 
them,  and  led  down  several  steps  into  the  sepul- 
chres ;  the  lintels  were  of  single  massive  stones. 
Within  there  was  always  one  square  chamber,  of 
about  seven  to  eight  feet  in  height,  with  stone 
couches  on  two  sides  for  the  repose  of  the  dead. 
Two  bodies  were  found  in  each,  lying  on  the 
stones  amidst  articles  of  adornment,  bronzes,  and 
pottery.  All  these  things  were  removed  when  the 
tombs  were  opened,  and  now  I  saw  but  the  bare 
benches,  mostly  broken  and  fragmentary.  It  was 
clear  how  great  and  rich  a  city  Orvieto  was  under 
the  Etruscans,  to  have  afforded  such  a  cemetery; 
and  it  was  queer  indeed  to  stand  here,  where  many 
an  Etruscan  family  stood  twenty-five  centuries 
ago,  gathered  about  to  gaze  for  the  last  time  upon 
the  faces  and  forms  of  their  beloved,  prepara- 
tory to  sealing  them  up  forever.  Then  Orvieto 
sat  just  the  same  above  them  on  its  rock  citadel, 
and  mighty  Rome,  destined  to  rule  them  and 
the  whole  world,  was  but  a  nascent  colony  of  the 
Latins  upon  the  Tiber;  but  people  lived  and  suf- 
fered, died  and  sorrowed,  exactly  as  we  do  to-day. 


CHAPTER  IV 

OBTE,    NARNI,    AMELIA,   AND    TEKNI 

I  LEFT  Orvieto  one  bright  spring  morning  by  the 
modern  funicolare,  which  descends  from  near  the 
well  of  San  Patrizio  directly  to  the  railroad  station 
in  the  valley  at  a  gradient  of  27 : 100,  passing 
under  the  old  fortress  by  a  tunnel.  This  cable 
tramway  has  made  life  possible  in  Orvieto  in  these 
days,  when  quick  communication  with  the  rest 
of  the  world  means  comfort  and  prosperity.  I 
took  train  for  Orte,  to  the  south  again,  in  order 
to  effect  junction  with  the  line  that  branches  off 
to  the  east  to  Foligno  ;  but  Orte  itself  invited  in- 
vestigation, for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  so  un- 
visited.  After  running  for  a  few  miles  down  the 
valley  of  the  Paglia,  the  Paglia  emptied  into  the 
Tiber,  which  came  rushing  down  from  the  east 
through  a  gap  in  the  mountains  towards  Todi. 
Following  then  the  broad  and  fertile  valley  of  the 
Tiber,  from  which  the  mountains  rose  on  both 
sides  precipitously,  I  soon  saw,  perched  upon  a 
peak  to  the  west,  the  inaccessible  mediaeval  town 
of  Bagnorea,  which  lies  upon  the  south  of  the 
road  from  Bolsena  to  Orvieto.  I  made  out  with 


74  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

interest  its  dense  mass  of  houses  piled  up  one  on 
the  other,  and,  apparently  resting  upon  the  very 
top  of  them  all,  a  tremendous  feudal  castle.  The 
donjon  tower  was  a  veritable  hill  in  itself. 

A  few  moments  later,  after  Bagnorea  had 
passed  from  sight,  I  saw  Montefiascone  once  more, 
far,  far  to  the  west,  upon  its  isolated  cone ;  the 
huge  dome  of  the  cathedral  glistened  in  the  rays 
of  the  morning  sun.  There,  I  knew,  behind  those 
hills  to  the  north  of  it,  lay  the  beautiful  lake  of 
Bolsena ;  and  behind  those  hills  to  the  south  of 
it,  the  historical  plain  of  Etruria.  I  was  sorry 
that  I  should  see  them  no  more.  A  few  minutes 
later  we  were  at  Orte. 

On  dismounting  from  the  train  I  saw  Orte  it- 
self sitting  on  a  pinnacle  of  rock  two  miles  to  the 
north ;  we  had  passed  just  beneath  it.  The  sta- 
tion is  the  junction  of  the  Foligno-Perugia  line, 
and  famed  in  Italy  for  its  buffet.  The  passengers 
were  frantically  struggling  to  open  the  doors  of 
their  compartments,  and  rushing  into  the  buffet 
to  get  some  of  its  excellent  wine  and  eatables  in 
the  short  stop.  Having  plenty  of  time  myself,  I 
enjoyed  for  a  while  the  scene  of  gesticulation, 
shouting,  and  confusion ;  then  I  engaged  the  soli- 
tary vetturino  lounging  outside,  and  drove  back 
alongside  the  track  for  the  two  miles  to  the  foot 
of  Orte.  We  mounted  its  precipitous  rock  by 
zigzags,  and  as  we  rose,  I  saw  the  beauty  of  the 
situation :  this  pinnacle  divided  the  Tiber  from  the 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI          75 

Nera  at  their  junction.  The  Nera  came  swiftly 
down  from  the  northeast,  as  heavy  in  volume  as 
the  Tiber ;  behind  it  were  the  great  masses  of  the 
Umbrian  mountains,  through  which  it  had  forced 
its  way.  I  gazed  with  interest,  for  in  that  direc- 
tion lay  my  route;  amongst  those  forest-clad 
peaks  were  Narni  and  Spoleto  and  Trevi  and 
Spello,  —  the  wonderful  old  towns  of  Umbria. 

The  last  zigzag  in  the  ascent  here  drew  my 
attention ;  for  it  ran  straightway  up  for  some 
distance,  beautifully  shaded  by  trees  on  each 
side,  and  on  one  side  rose  the  sheer  rock  to  the 
walls  and  houses  above.  Soon  we  entered  the 
gate,  and  passed  through  small  clean  streets  to 
the  piazza,  where  I  left  the  horse.  Fronting  the 
piazza  was  the  "  cathedral,"  rococo  in  style,  with 
a  new  coat  of  whitewash.  The  interior  was  as 
bad ;  I  came  out  hurriedly.  The  time  was  best 
spent  in  roaming  about  the  narrow  streets.  In 
doing  this  I  soon  found  that  the  edge  of  the 
rock  was  not  far  away  on  each  side ;  that  the 
town  was  shaped  like  a  long,  narrow  ellipse,  run- 
ning north  and  south,  and  it  was  built  to  the 
very  top  of  the  precipices  that  surround  it.  The 
house  walls  were  about  half  of  them  stuccoed; 
on  many  the  plaster  had  fallen  off  again,  show- 
ing once  more  the  great,  squared,  rough  stone 
blocks,  seamed  by  the  centuries.  It  was  very 
picturesque  indeed  to  walk  through  these  little 
streets,  from  four  to  eight  feet  wide,  with  the 


76  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

tall  dark  walls  towering  above,  and  the  byways 
affording  vistas,  through  tunnels  and  archways, 
of  green  fields  and  trees  far  away.  Everywhere 
arches  ran  from  wall  to  wall  supportingly,  and 
houses  sat  over  the  street  now  and  then,  obliging 
one  to  pass  beneath  them.  But  an  air  of  comfort 
was  given  to  this  town,  which  all  others  I  had 
seen  did  not  possess,  by  the  noticeable  cleanness 
of  the  pavements,  and  the  pots  of  flowers  and 
ferns  which  everywhere  graced  the  windows. 
Evidently  Orte's  situation  on  the  main  railroad 
of  Italy  had  not  failed  to  give  her  modern  ideas. 
Yet  she  is,  I  remembered,  a  very  ancient  town, 

—  the  "Horta"  of  the  Romans;  and  there  were 
evidences  of  it.    In  many  instances  the  lower  part 
of  the  housewalls  was  of  unmistakable  Roman 
workmanship,  of  the  republican  epoch :  the  huge, 
nicely  squared  and  fitted,  peperino  or  gray  tufa 
blocks  being  joined  without  mortar,  as  the  work- 
men of  the  early  Middle  Ages  could  not  do  it. 
The  vast  age,  also,  was  plainly  written  on  the 
stones.    Here  and  there  I  found  work  of  the  im- 
perial epoch :    the  long,   narrow  bricks,   set  in 
abundant  mortar  as  hard  as  stone.    It  was  inter- 
esting to  find  these  Roman  house-walls  still  stand- 
ing, after  two  thousand  years,  and  still  sheltering 
people.   An  old  cobbler,  — whom  I  found  exercis- 
ing his  trade,  like  all  others,  in  an  open  doorway, 

—  said  that  it  was  indeed  true  that  a  great  many 
of  the  houses  were  more  or  less  of  ancient  Roman 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNT  77 

construction ;  and  he  led  me  to  a  dwelling  near 
by,  upon  the  very  face  of  the  cliff,  which  he  said 
was  entirely  of  republican  workmanship.  He 
called  it  "  the  house  of  Julia,"  and  asserted  that 
it  had  always  been  a  tradition  in  the  town  that 
this  was  builj;  and  inhabited  by  a  certain  lady  from 
ancient  Rome  of  that  name.  Appearances  sus- 
tained the  tradition.  The  house  was  about  thirty 
feet  square  and  two  stories  in  height,  constructed 
of  the  same  large,  squared,  gray  tufa  blocks.  The 
doorway,  approached  by  a  short  flight  of  steps, 
was  boarded  up,  and  I  could  not  enter. 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  town,  where  it 
ended  in  a  point  with  a  gateway,  I  found  the  re- 
mains of  the  mediaeval  castle,  upon  a  separate 
crag,  divided  from  the  town  by  a  ravine.  Across 
this  ravine  extended  upon  arches  the  ruins  of  a 
curious  causeway,  built  to  connect  the  castle  with 
the  city.  Most  of  the  arches  still  stood,  high  and 
gaunt-looking ;  the  passage  across  their  tops,  with 
heavy  parapets,  was  wide  enough  only  for  a  man 
or  donkey  to  traverse.  It  leaped  from  the  last 
arch  to  the  castle  by  a  drawbridge,  —  now  dis- 
appeared, together  with  all  the  rest  of  the  edi- 
fice. The  top  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  castle 
stood  was  razed  clean,  except  for  a  few  frag- 
ments of  walls.  The  sides  of  the  crag  were  so 
perfectly  precipitous  that  I  did  not  see  how  it 
could  ever  have  been  taken  and  destroyed,  except 
by  treachery  from  within.  It  was  the  most  ideal 


78  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

situation  for  a  fortress  that  one  could  conceive. 
No  foe  could  scale  those  precipices,  and  no  foe 
could  enter  over  this  causeway  and  drawbridge, 
the  only  entrance  there  was.  A  modern  road  now 
sloped  from  the  gateway,  below  the  castle  rock, 
to  the  valley  of  the  Tiber. 

I  returned  to  the  station  and  tested  its  fame 
by  a  luncheon  of  eggs  "al  piatto,"  and  fried 
artichokes,  which  were  delicious ;  then  took  train 
for  Narni.  After  some  twenty  minutes  of  fol- 
lowing the  course  of  the  Nera  to  the  northeast, 
the  mountains  gathered  in  more  and  more  closely 
to  the  stream,  until  it  became  a  narrow  defile. 
The  river  dashed  alongside  amidst  boulders,  and 
the  pine-clad  cliffs  soared  on  each  hand  to  a  great 
height ;  it  was  sublime.  Finally  we  plunged  into 
a  tunnel,  and  emerged  upon  the  plain  of  the  Nera, 
at  the  station  of  Narni.  Getting  out,  I  saw  the 
town  behind  us,  perched  on  a  great  hill-top,  and 
in  front  the  fertile  plain  spreading  out  for  some 
distance  between  the  receding  mountains.  Arriv- 
ing at  Narni  by  carriage,  I  found  the  situation 
even  more  picturesque  than  that  of  Orte.  On  the 
western  side  of  the  town  the  rock  fell  like  a 
plumb-line  to  the  ravine  through  which  I  had  re- 
cently passed  on  the  train.  To  the  north  and  east 
the  descent  was  very  steep  to  the  plain ;  to  the 
south  the  mountain  rose  still  higher,  to  a  point 
upon  which  stood  a  huge  and  well-preserved 
castle,  with  machicolated  parapets  and  massive 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI  79 

towers  at  the  angles.  This  is  now  used  as  a 
prison.  A  curious  copy  of  it  has  been  built  by 
the  Prince  de  Bourbon,  grandson  of  the  last  king 
of  Naples,  upon  the  steep  hillside  towards  the 
plain,  where  he  now  lives. 

The  upper  streets  of  Narni  climb  arduously 
towards  the  castle,  and  circle  about  the  mountain 
side  through  the  usual  archways  and  tunnels ; 
but  the  houses  are  mostly  plastered,  with  a  modern 
air.  I  found  it  more  interesting  to  walk  on  the 
streets  lining  the  edges  of  the  ravine  and  the  de- 
scent to  the  plain,  and  gaze  down  at  the  river 
below,  or  off  to  the  many  mountains  beyond.  But 
it  is  an  ancient  town  ;  the  Roman  Emperor  Nerva 
was  born  here.  It  was  first  captured  by  the 
Romans  as  early  as  299  B.  c.,  before  which  it  had 
been  called  Nequinum,  and  after  which  it  was 
called  Narnia.  A  wonderful  relic  of  Roman  times 
still  exists,  below  the  town,  in  the  remains  of  the 
bridge  of  Augustus  across  the  Nera  just  before 
it  enters  the  glen.  One  arch  of  the  three  original 
I  saw  standing,  sixty  feet  in  height,  of  great  cut 
stones  perfectly  fitted  without  mortar.  I  wondered 
that  the  other  two  ever  fell ;  probably  they  were 
destroyed  in  warfare;  the  massive  pier  which 
supported  them  was  still  erect.  This  was  a  very 
important  bridge  in  imperial  days.  It  carried  the 
Via  Flaminia  from  Rome  to  the  north,  —  to 
Perugia  and  the  Umbrian  cities,  —  spanning  the 
dangerous  floods  of  the  Nar  at  a  safe  height. 


80  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Near  by  was  the  mediaeval  bridge,  still  in  use, 
constructed  after  the  other  had  fallen.  It  was 
spanned  midway  by  a  lofty  tower,  which  for- 
merly guarded  it.  Across  this  bridge  I  drove 
again,  on  my  way  to  Amelia.  Amelia  lies  in  the 
heart  of  the  mountains  which  intervene  to  the 
west  between  the  valley  of  the  Nera  and  that  of 
the  Tiber.  In  legend  and  authentic  history  it 
figures  as  one  of  the  earliest,  still  existing,  cities 
of  Italy,  built  by  the  Pelasgi  even  before  the 
days  of  the  Etruscans.  Once  on  the  north  side 
of  the  Nera  we  mounted  rapidly  the  face  of  the 
mountain  wall  which  girdles  in  the  plain  upon 
the  west.  We  were  soon  at  such  a  height  that 
the  plain  lay  before  us  like  an  oval,  green  basin, 
its  sides  dotted  with  grayish-white  towns;  at  the 
further  end  of  it,  upon  the  level,  lay  Terni  with 
its  broad  extent  and  modern  factory  chimneys. 
We  turned  westward  into  a  gap  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  entered  the  heart  of  them,  still  climb- 
ing. Even  up  here  the  vine  and  the  olive  were 
ubiquitous.  After  an  hour  I  saw  Amelia  before 
me  on  a  vast  hill-top,  surmounted  by  its  cathe- 
dral tower,  the  houses  descending  in  successive 
tiers  to  the  fragments  of  the  ancient  walls.  It 
was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  reached  the 
piazza  outside  the  gate,  and  the  sun  was  hidden 
by  dense  clouds.  A  heavy  murkiness  filled  the 
air,  and  gave  to  the  mountains  which  hemmed  us 
in  on  every  side  a  dark  and  menacing  aspect.  I 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI  81 

felt  as  though  I  were  really  back  in  ancient  times, 
or  at  least  a  thousand  miles  from  civilization.  A 
few  men  slouched  about  the  gateway  with  a 
gloomy  air,  saying  nothing  to  each  other,  —  in  a 
fashion,  it  seemed  to  me,  more  Etruscan  than 
Italian.  I  approached  to  examine  the  walls  ;  and, 
true  enough,  they  were  Pelasgic,  built  of  tremen- 
dous many-sided  blocks  of  gray  stone  of  differ- 
ent sizes.  There  they  sat  in  the  town  wall  just 
as  they  were  laid  four  thousand  years  ago ;  it 
seemed  incredible. 

I  climbed  the  winding  ways  in  the  gloom  to- 
ward the  cathedral  at  the  top.  Black  walls  of 
endless  age  lined  the  little  streets,  and  melan- 
choly-looking people  gazed  at  me  from  cavern- 
like  doorways.  I  heard  nobody  talking  any- 
where, and  it  produced  a  feeling  of  extraordinary 
isolation  and  loneliness.  Half-way  up  I  found 
a  little  piazza  where  there  was  no  one  but  an 
old  man  with  bleared  eyes,  who  stood  before  an 
ancient  town  hall  arching  the  street ;  and  he  fol- 
lowed me  for  a  while  in  utter  silence.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  perfect  isolation  of  Amelia  must 
affect  its  remaining  people  in  this  way.  It  was  a 
long  climb  to  the  top,  but  I  reached  it  at  last, 
in  a  little  piazza  before  the  cathedral  (which  was 
closed).  Here  the  view  was  magnificent,  in  spite 
of  the  sun's  absence ;  it  was  impressive  in  its 
grandeur.  The  bare  mountain  peaks  lined  the 
whole  horizon  ;  there  ran  the  valley  of  the  Tiber, 


82 

on  the  west ;  to  the  dim  south  sat  Soracte,  with 
its  crouching  back,  which  I  had  not  thought  to 
see  again.  It  was  hard  to  realize  that  this  re- 
mote place  could  once  have  been  so  important ; 
but  I  remembered  that  Ameria  (its  Latin  name) 
was  often  referred  to  by  Roman  authors  as  a 
large  and  flourishing  town.  On  descending  I 
noticed  remains  of  Roman  days,  ancient  columns 
built  into  the  house  walls  here  and  there,  and 
Corinthian  capitals  projecting  from  the  plastered 
fagades.  After  one  more  look  at  the  cyclopean 
walls,  the  equal  of  which  I  should  probably 
never  see  again,  I  summoned  the  vetturino,  and 
we  descended  rapidly  to  the  plain  of  the  Nera, 
and  remounted  to  Narni.  I  dined  at  a  primitive 
inn  on  the  brink  of  the  gorge,  at  a  long  table 
in  a  second-story  room,  confronted  by  an  Italian 
and  bis  daughter  who  interested  me  very  much 
as  types  of  the  new  class  in  Italy,  —  the  class 
which  has  arisen  since  the  unification,  —  a  bour- 
geoisie, with  a  partial  modern  education.  The 
man  could  talk  well  on  most  Italian  subjects,  but 
had  bad  manners  and  ate  with  his  hat  on ;  the 
daughter  had  gathered  some  education  as  to  man- 
ners, but  drank  her  eggs  from  the  shell,  and  was 
generally  ignorant. 

That  same  evening  I  left  for  Terni ;  and  a 
scene  occurred  at  the  station  which  was  char- 
acteristically Italian.  I  knocked  in  vain  at  the 
little  wooden  slide  which  closed  the  window  for 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI  83 

purchase  of  tickets,  until  the  train  rumbled  into 
the  depot.  Then  the  official  condescended  to 
open  it  and  give  me  my  biglietto  ;  but  I  had 
still  to  get  a  piece  of  luggage  which  I  had  left 
there  on  deposit.  I  rushed  to  the  platform  and 
demanded  it,  showing  the  receipt,  but  no  official 
was  equal  to  the  emergency.  I  appealed  to  the 
train  guard  to  hold  the  train  until  I  obtained 
my  luggage ;  he  said,  "  Certainly."  First  the 
right  man  could  not  be  found,  and  then  the  right 
key.  At  last  a  proper  conjunction  of  officialdom 
was  effected,  and  I  procured  my  bag ;  time,  ten 
minutes,  —  during  which  the  whole  train  stood 
patiently  waiting. 

We  traversed  the  level  plain  of  the  Nera  in 
the  darkness,  and  I  reached  Terni  rejoicing  to 
find  a  good  bed  at  the  hotel  which  shelters  the 
many  strangers  who  come  to  see  the  waterfalls. 
These  cascades  are  among  the  most  celebrated 
in  Europe  ;  Terni  is  otherwise  uninteresting,  for 
it  is  a  modern  town,  though  of  early  origin  ;  its 
location  as  the  metropolis  of  the  fertile  basin  of 
the  Nera  and  the  surrounding  country,  and  as 
the  junction  of  the  railway  to  Eieti  and  the  east- 
ern coast,  has  given  it  recent  prosperity.  On 
awakening  in  the  morning  and  pushing  open  the 
blinds  I  found  myself  looking  upon  the  principal 
piazza  of  Terni.  It  was  surrounded  by  modern 
stuccoed  buildings,  with  cafes  on  the  sidewalks. 
A  stroll  about  the  little  city  of  ten  thousand  in- 


84  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

habitants  revealed  nothing  more  interesting  than 
the  poor  renaissance  palaces  of  the  old  nobility. 
The  streets  are  comparatively  wide  and  straight, 
the  town  being  on  a  level ;  and  the  white  and 
cream-colored  houses  have  a  somewhat  cheerful 
air.  It  seemed  as  though  the  inhabitants  must 
really  have  some  of  the  conveniences  and  luxu- 
ries of  modern  life.  It  is  lit  by  electricity,  and 
there  are  tram-cars  running  by  the  same  power 
to  the  station  and  to  the  cascades. 

I  took  one  of  these  trams  in  the  afternoon. 
It  ran  to  the  east,  past  a  great  manufactory  of 
arms  which  the  government  has  established  here, 
and  up  the  course  of  the  Nera  into  the  mount- 
ains. Very  soon  we  were  in  a  deep,  romantic 
glen,  through  which  we  wound  beside  the  brawl- 
ing stream  for  some  miles,  —  bushes  and  willows 
below  fringing  the  shady  banks,  and  great  cliffs 
rising  high  above  on  each  hand.  Thus  we  reached 
the  point  where  the  Velino  comes  tumbling  into 
the  glen  from  the  south,  falling  from  the  high 
level  of  the  plain  of  Rieti,  and  making  three 
wide  leaps  of  330,  190,  and  65  feet.  The  roar 
of  the  cataract  and  its  dense  mist  filled  the  little 
valley.  Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than 
this  situation,  —  the  splashing  Nera  below,  amidst 
dense  trees,  underbrush  and  boulders,  —  the  vast 
cliffs  on  each  hand,  soaring  to  the  sky  for  seven 
hundred  feet,  clothed  with  bushes  and  pines,  — 
and,  frowning  over  the  cliffs  and  closing  the  glen, 


THE    FALLS   OF   TERM 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI  85 

bare  mountain  peaks.  The  Velino  in  spring  is 
of  considerable  volume;  and  it  plunges  in  one 
compact  body  like  a  large  river,  from  between 
sheltering  trees  at  the  top,  in  its  first  leap  of  330 
feet,  —  seeming  to  fall  into  a  cauldron  of  steam. 
From  the  bowl  hollowed  by  this  fall  it  spreads 
out  over  the  rocks  and  descends  in  a  series  of 
exquisite  cascades  for  190  feet  more,  now  dash- 
ing wildly  amongst  huge  stones,  now  dropping 
smoothly  over  a  rounded  cliff  like  a  glistening, 
translucent  veil.  The  words  of  Byron  in  "  Childe 
Harold  "  of  course  recur  to  every  traveler  who 
visits  this  beautiful  spot ;  and  I,  like  others, 
sought  to  recall  them  :  — 

"  The  roar  of  waters  !  —  from  the  headlong  height 
Velino  cleaves  the  wave-worn  precipice  ; 
The  fall  of  waters  !  —  rapid  as  the  light 
The  flashing  mass  foams,  shaking  the  abyss  ; 
The  hell  of  waters  !  —  where  they  howl  and  hiss 
And  boil  in  endless  torture  ;  while  the  sweat 
Of  their  great  agony,  wrung  out  from  this 
Their  Phlegethon,  curls  round  the  rocks  of  jet 
That  gird  the  gulf  around,  in  pitiless  horror  set." 

I  mounted  the  cliff  beside  the  large  fall  to  a 
point  where  a  little  promontory  projects  before 
it  with  a  belvedere,  and  from  this  had  a  good 
view  of  the  seething  basin  into  which  it  hurls 
itself.  The  roar,  the  madness  of  the  rushing 
water,  the  boiling  and  surging  of  the  pit,  and 
the  fierce  eddying  of  the  driven  mist,  were  never 
to  be  forgotten.  At  the  top  I  found  a  pretty 


86  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

vale  between  two  mountain-tops,  through  which 
the  Velino  pours  from  the  plain  beyond.  To 
the  east  there  opens  out  upon  this  plain  the 
beautiful  lake  of  Piediluco,  curving  gracefully 
between  rounded  hillsides ;  on  the  north  bank 
of  it  sits  the  town  of  the  same  name,  beneath  a 
cone-shaped  mount  topped  by  a  ruined  castle, 
whose  ancient  enfilading  walls  creep  brokenly 
downward  to  right  and  left. 

As  I  descended  again  to  the  glen  of  the  Nera, 
I  noticed  that  the  modern  Italians  have  actually 
been  enterprising  enough  to  make  some  use  of 
this  tremendous  water-power.  They  have  drawn 
off  a  little  of  the  water  at  the  head  of  the  falls 
and  conducted  it  by  two  separate  channels,  one 
to  the  east  and  the  other  to  the  west,  to  points 
where  it  drops  into  the  glen  through  chutes  to 
large  manufactories,  at  a  sufficient  distance  not 
to  be  seen  from  the  cataract.  In  this  they  show 
their  usual  care  not  to  spoil  anything  beautiful, 
—  a  lesson  which  we  Anglo-Saxons  seem  unable 
to  learn. 

Next  morning  I  departed  from  Terni,  delighted 
to  be  on  my  way  to  Spoleto ;  Spoleto,  the  famous 
ancient  Umbrian  city,  the  faithful  Roman  colony 
which  repelled'  the  attack  of  Hannibal,  the  power- 
ful Lombard  duchy  which  gave  an  emperor  to 
the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  the  renaissant  muni- 
cipality which  drew  to  it  Filippo  Lippi  for  the 
production  of  his  masterpiece  in  its  cathedral. 


ORTE,  NARNI,  AMELIA,  AND  TERNI  87 

I  was  now  to  pass  the  divide  which  separates 
the  valley  of  the  Nera  from  that  of  the  Teve- 
rone  —  the  beautiful  plain  of  Umbria,  upon 
whose  eastern  bank  sit  not  only  Spoleto,  but 
Trevi,  Foligno,  Spello,  and  Assisi.  I  was  to 
cross  the  mountains  which  seem  to  divide  north- 
ern Italy  from  central  Italy,  which  marked  the 
limit  of  the  immediate  administration  of  Rome, 
and  which  bounded  upon  the  south  the  region 
of  the  awakening  of  the  Renaissance.  I  was  to 
enter  that  wonderful  Umbrian  plain  over  which 
Perugia  extended  her  sway ;  where  developed 
the  Umbrian  school  of  painting ;  the  country  of 
Pinturicchio,  Perugino,  and  Lo  Spagna. 

The  train  left  the  plain  of  the  Nera,  and 
plunged  at  once  into  the  mountains,  climbing 
the  course  of  a  beautiful,  though  muddy,  brook 
which  splashed  downward  through  a  deep  and 
wooded  glen.  It  was  a  succession  of  cuts  and 
tunnels  through  the  hillsides  of  this  winding 
stream.  The  mountains  rose  to  a  great  height  on 
each  hand,  sometimes  bare  and  rocky,  sometimes 
covered  wfth  fine  old  elm  and  oak  trees.  Soon 
we  passed  a  most  romantic  looking  little  village 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  brook,  stretching  up 
the  hillside  in  a  mass  of  broken  gray  ruins,  to- 
wards which  the  encircling  arms  of  a  castle  above 
reached  down ;  and  far  above  was  another  castle, 
a  thousand  feet  in  the  air,  commanding  the  pass 
with  its  mighty  keep.  Then  we  crossed  the  divide 


88  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

by  a  long  tunnel,  and  emerged  on  the  northern 
side,  —  now  running  swiftly  downward,  —  into 
a  vale  more  spacious  and  an  atmosphere  more 
luminous.  This  vale  was  the  beginning  of  the 
valley  of  the  Teverone,  into  which  it  gradually 
widened.  Here  were  farmhouses  and  villas  upon 
the  hillsides,  speaking  of  order  and  prosperity ; 
about  them  spread  a  luxuriant  landscape  of  vine- 
yards and  orchards.  The  surrounding  peaks 
looked  no  longer  grim,  but  gentle  and  pastoral. 
Then  we  rolled  into  the  station  of  Spoleto ;  and  I 
saw  the  town  at  a  little  distance  to  the  south,  with 
its  forefoot  in  the  valley,  stretching  gracefully  up 
a  hillside,  backed  by  mountains  rounded,  forest- 
clad  and  softly  green. 


CHAPTER  V 

SPOLETO 

THE  approach  to  Spoleto  from  the  station  showed 
it  lying  upon  its  eminence  in  shape  like  a  dia- 
mond, with  the  northern  point  upon  the  plain ; 
upon  the  eastern  point  it  bulged  up  into  a  great 
knob,  upon  which  sat  the  extensive  castle  of  the 
Lombard  dukes,  with  an  encircling  wall  of  its 
own.  Beyond  this  citadel  rose  the  steep  wooded 
cliff  of  Monte  Luco  to  a  height  of  over  2500  feet, 
dotted  with  white  buildings  amidst  the  foliage. 
The  Tessino  came  rushing  down  around  the  foot 
of  the  castle  and  flowed  swiftly  before  the  north- 
ern gateway  of  the  town,  in  a  wide  channel 
banked  high  for  its  spring  floods.  We  crossed 
it  by  a  handsome  bridge,  entered  the  old  gate- 
way, and  mounted  the  town  by  the  windings  of 
the  Corso,  between  buildings  that  were  modern- 
looking  and  cheerful.  It  is  but  a  few  years,  I  was 
told,  since  the  Corso  was  put  through,  together 
with  a  number  of  other  new  streets ;  this  must 
have  taken  away  much  of  the  mediaeval  aspect  of 
the  town,  but  enough  of  that  can  still  be  had 
in  the  side  streets.  Looking  down  them  I  saw 


90  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

tortuous  dark  passages  with  rough  unplastered 
walls. 

I  was  deposited  at  the  old  albergo  of  which 
other  travelers  have  written,  located  in  the  centre 
of  the  town  in  an  ancient  palace,  its  approach 
through  a  tunnel  under  a  garden,  having  spa- 
cious rooms  and  corridors  with  lofty  ceilings, 
through  which  one  wanders  in  gloom  and  confu- 
sion. I  found  stairways  of  stone  worn  by  the 
feet  of  many  generations,  echoing  tiled  floors  (as 
everywhere  in  Italy)  and  great  salons,  once  gor- 
geous, now  shuttered  dim  on  faded  furniture.  It 
was  curious  to  walk  through  those  halls  and 
chambers  at  night,  groping  the  way  to  one's 
room  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  candle,  feeling, 
if  not  seeing,  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  noble 
occupants  in  every  dusky  corner. 

My  first  walk  took  me  further  up  the  Corso, 
which  in  this  part  of  the  town  becomes  straight, 
to  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emmanuele  at  the  apex  of 
the  hill.  In  the  centre  of  the  piazza  there  is  a 
statue  of  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  upon  the  south 
side  of  it  the  Prefectura,  a  simple  structure  of 
renaissance  lines.  Beyond  the  piazza  I  found  that 
the  ground  sloped  downward  to  the  south  gate, 
in  two  parallel  streets,  the  western  one  of  which 
was  no  longer  occupied  by  houses.  The  bare 
fields  stretched  away  from  it  for  some  distance 
to  the  west,  upon  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill, 
yet  within  the  walls,  showing  how  much  smaller 


SPOLETO  91 

the  town  is  to-day  than  in  the  Middle  Ages  and 
in  antiquity.  But  following  this  road  beyond 
the  southern  gate  of  San  Luca  I  obtained  a  view 
which  showed  me  at  once  where  lies  Spoleto's 
beauty.  The  town  rose  behind  me  to  the  north, 
and  on  the  south,  east,  and  west  soared  the  rounded 
hills  which  hem  it  in  so  closely  to  the  plain,  — 
sweetly  green  in  luxuriant  masses  of  tufted  trees, 
and  dotted  with  the  white  walls  and  gray  domes 
of  villas  and  churches.  The  prospect  was  lovely 
beyond  all  expression.  Here  and  there  a  grove 
of  tall  black  cypresses  shot  their  pointed  heads 
against  the  blue  of  the  sky.  Large  ecclesiastical 
structures  built  in  peaceful  renaissance  days  — 
monasteries  and  churches  —  filled  the  vales  be- 
tween the  hills ;  and  the  whole  vast  face  of  Monte 
Luco  on  the  east  was  sprinkled  with  the  white 
walls  of  buildings  amidst  its  heavy  verdure. 
These,  I  knew,  must  be  the  hermitages  estab- 
lished there  in  the  sixth  century  by  Saint  Isaac 
of  Syria,  where  so  many  renowned  prelates  and 
saints  have  passed  good  portions  of  their  lives. 

The  next  morning  I  proceeded  to  the  Palazzo 
Municipale  and  the  cathedral,  both  of  which  lie 
in  front  of  the  castle  toward  the  eastern  point  of 
the  town.  The  former  is  remarkable  only  for 
containing  a  marvelous  fresco  by  Lo  Spagna  in 
its  small  art  collection,  and  the  remains  of  an 
ancient  Roman  house  in  its  cellar.  The  fresco  is 
a  large  Madonna  with  saints,  which  formerly 


92  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

stood  in  the  castle,  where  it  was  much  injured 
by  the  bayonets  of  Napoleon's  soldiers ;  in  spite 
of  this  it  is  a  very  beautiful  work,  showing  that 
Lo  Spagna  at  his  best  was  equal  to  Perugino. 
The  exquisite  grace  and  sweetness  of  the  Ma- 
donna hold  the  onlooker  like  a  vise.  It  made  me 
wonder  what  Lo  Spagna,  who  died  before  he  was 
twenty-four,  would  have  accomplished  had  he 
lived  to  the  alloted  age.  He  shows  in  this  fresco 
a  mastery  of  flesh  tint  which  was  equaled  by  one 
other  cinquecentist  only,  —  his  contemporary, 
Sodoma.  There  is  a  wonderful  softness  and 
delicacy  in  the  skin  of  the  Madonna's  face  and 
throat,  transparent,  with  the  light  flush  of  health 
and  youth  diffused  beneath  it. 

The  remains  of  the  Roman  house  consist  of 
the  mosaic  pavement  of  its  nine  rooms,  which 
is  remarkably  preserved  —  much  better  than  any 
at  Rome.  The  walls  of  the  rooms  and  of  the 
house  are  gone,  save  one  fragment  of  heavy  out- 
side stonework.  The  legend  has  it  that  the 
mother  of  the  Emperor  Vespasian  resided  here. 

The  cathedral  lies  directly  back  of  the  Palazzo 
Municipale,  in  the  very  shadow  of  the  castle, 
which  rises  far  overhead  upon  its  rock  in  gran- 
deur. A  beautiful  renaissance  portico,  with  an 
outside  marble  pulpit  between  two  half  columns 
at  each  end,  faces  the  piazza  before  it.  I  found 
the  interior  whitewashed  and  uninteresting,  ex- 
cept for  the  frescoes,  of  which  a  fine  work  of 


OUTDOOR   EASTER   SERVICE  —  SPOLETO 


SPOLETO  93 

Pinturicchio's  stands  in  one  chapel,  and  the  mas- 
terpiece of  Filippo  Lippi  occupies  the  choir. 
This  chef-d'ceuvre  consists  of  three  panels  on 
the  walls  of  the  apse,  and  in  the  half  dome  a 
Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  with  attendant  angels 
and  saints.  Although  greatly  damaged  by  the 
cold  and  damp  of  nearly  five  hundred  years,  it  is 
still  very  enjoyable.  Fra  Filippo's  main  strength 
lay  in  his  mastery  of  colors.  The  colors  here  are 
mostly  vanished,  but  enough  remains  to  show 
the  exquisite  tints  which  he  originally  laid  on, 
—  softest  blending  hues  of  pink  and  brown  and 
green,  upon  a  general  foundation  of  blue.  It 
reminds  one  of  Guido  Reni,  so  many  years  after. 
The  general  composition  is  rather  stiff ;  but  the 
figure  of  the  Virgin  is  of  wonderful  grace.  She 
is  kneeling  with  folded  hands,  to  receive  the 
crown  which  the  Father  is  placing  upon  her 
head,  in  an  attitude  and  with  an  expression  in- 
dicative of  dignity  yet  humility,  godliness  yet 
womanliness. 

Fra  Filippo  died  while  at  work  on  this  paint- 
ing, whereupon  the  Florentines  sent  Lorenzo 
de'  Medici  as  special  ambassador  to  claim  the 
body ;  but  the  Spoletans  refused  to  deliver  it  up, 
and  buried  Filippo  in  the  cathedral  which  he  had 
given  to  fame.  I  saw  his  tomb  in  the  entrance 
to  the  chapel  on  the  left  of  the  high  altar:  a 
slab  set  in  the  wall  richly  cut  in  bas-relief  with 
patterns,  having  an  epitaph  by  Politian. 


94  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Between  the  side  of  the  Palazzo  Municipale 
and  the  castle  lies  a  wide  piazza  upon  which  opens 
the  castle  gateway;  this,  however,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  enter,  because  the  fortress,  like  so  many 
others  in  Italy,  is  now  used  as  a  prison.  I  looked 
far  above  at  the  grated  windows,  and  reflected 
that  the  prisoners  must  have  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  panoramas  in  the  world  to  gaze  at.  To 
obtain  this  view  I  started  one  afternoon  to  make 
a  partial  ascent  of  Monte  Luco  behind  the  castle. 
The  road  wound  around  the  base  of  the  rock  to 
the  ravine  at  its  back,  —  a  vast  ravine,  three  hun- 
dred feet  in  depth,  with  precipitous  sides,  and 
the  Tessino  dashing  along  at  the  bottom.  And 
there  I  saw  a  mighty  bridge  actually  spanning 
this  chasm,  —  not  jumping  it  in  one  leap,  for 
it  is  seven  hundred  feet  wide,  but  calmly  step- 
ping across  on  ten  pointed  arches,  whose  piers 
reached  to  the  bottom  so  far  below.  They  say 
that  the  lower  construction  of  this  marvel  shows 
Roman  work  (I  did  not  go  down  to  see) ;  but 
at  any  rate  it  was  reconstructed  as  at  present  by 
Theodelapius,  the  third  Lombard  duke.  Crossing 
over,  I  climbed  the  steep  side  of  Monte  Luco 
for  half  an  hour,  by  a  graveled  path  which  led 
through  thickets  of  "box  and  juniper  and  groves 
of  ilexes  and  elms.  At  last  I  reached  a  spot 
higher  than  the  castle,  placing  it  and  the  whole 
town  below  me ;  and  beyond  there  stretched  a 
view  too  beautiful  for  pen  or  words  to  describe. 


SPOLETO  95 

From  the  mass  of  brown-tiled  roofs  of  Spoleto 
the  eye  ranged  out  over  the  plain  of  Umbria,  glis- 
tening sweetly  green  in  the  light  of  the  sinking 
sun,  —  meadows  and  copses  of  great  trees,  fields 
of  growing  grain  and  orchards  of  olives,  —  the 
white  walls  of  farmhouses  alternating  with  those 
of  churches  and  monasteries  surrounded  by  clus- 
ters of  cypresses.  This  vista  stretched  off  to  the 
northward  between  the  walls  of  the  mountains 
on  each  side,  which  contrasted  by  the  darker 
green  of  their  dense  woods  at  the  top.  And  on 
the  mountain  wall  to  the  east,  curving  gently 
around  to  the  northwest  as  it  receded,  sat  in 
splendid  procession  the  grand  old  towns  of 
Umbria :  Trevi,  "  piled  volcano-like  in  sunlit 
pyramid  with  bright  volume  of  cloud  for  a  smoke 
wreath ; "  Foligno,  slipped  into  the  valley,  with 
her  towers  and  domes  uplifted  to  catch  the  west- 
ern rays ;  Spello,  perched  glistening,  tier  above 
tier,  upon  her  pinnacle ;  and  farthest  of  all,  won- 
derful old  Assisi,  lying  fair  with  white  walls  upon 
her  sloping  hillside,  smiling  with  true  churchly 
benignity  towards  martial  Spoleto  at  the  south. 
Wonderful,  wonderful,  it  was.  And  as  the  set- 
ting sun  sank  lower  his  horizontal  rays  became 
golden,  bathed  the  long  valley  in  a  golden  mist, 
and  turned  the  curving  file  of  cities  into  a  row 
of  glistening  golden  domes. 

And  thus  I  found,  as  all  others  no  doubt  have 
found  before  me,  that  the  best  things  at  Spoleto 


96  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

are  not  indoors,  hidden  in  galleries  or  churches, 
nor  even  in  the  streets,  interesting  as  they  are, 
but  in  the  environs  of  hill  and  valley  with  their 
vistas.  In  these  environs,  too,  lie  all  the  principal 
churches  except  the  cathedral.  Yet  it  was  a  plea- 
sure always  to  saunter  up  and  down  the  variegated 
and  tortuous  streets  of  the  city,  noting  all  the 
different  epochs  which  they  represent.  Here 
upon  the  Corso  and  Via  Umberto  is  reunited 
Italy,  with  its  little  modern  shops,  and  pink 
fagades  with  outside  green  blinds,  and  caf e*s  with 
men  drinking  at  tiny  tables  in  the  open  doors. 
There  is  not  room  upon  the  streets  for  the  tables, 
because  these  fine  thoroughfares  are  not  over 
twenty  feet  wide  from  wall  to  wall.  Then  here 
is  Spoleto  of  the  Renaissance,  on  a  side  street, 
in  the  remains  of  the  palaces  then  erected, — 
some  of  them  with  fagades  still  intact,  glorying 
in  heavy  rusticated  stone  corners  and  doorways, 
triangular  pediments  over  the  windows,  ornate 
string-courses,  and  ponderous  cornices.  These 
fagades  mostly  cover  interiors  decayed  and  ruined, 
long  since  passed  from  the  hands  of  the  im- 
poverished noble  builders  and  their  descendants. 
But  there  are  interiors  of  that  epoch  still  well 
preserved,  —  most  likely  behind  an  altered  and 
ugly  front,  —  with  their  grand  suite  of  rooms  on 
the  "  piano  nobile  "  or  second  story,  having  great 
length  and  breadth  and  height,  frescoed  ceilings, 
walls  covered  with  remains  of  paintings  or  tap- 


SPOLETO  97 

estry,  vast  double  doors  with  decorated  panels 
and  handles  at  the  centre  instead  of  the  edge, 
interior  window  blinds  carved  and  painted,  huge 
gilded  cornices  over  doors  and  windows,  marble- 
top  tables  with  curved  gilded  legs,  and  great, 
handsome  stone  fireplaces. 

But  here  is  Spoleto  of  the  Middle  Ages,  in  this 
little  dark  way  climbing  the  hill  in  cobble-stone 
steps,  with  dusky  walls  which  one  can  reach  on 
both  sides,  constructed  of  stones  of  every  size 
and  age  loosely  set  together,  most  of  them  taken 
from  buildings  of  prior  epochs.  Archways  lead 
into  halls  like  caverns,  little  sashless  windows 
peer  down,  steps  ascend  and  descend  on  each 
hand  —  sometimes  into  the  light  of  a  courtyard 
or  another  street,  sometimes  into  deeper  ob- 
scurity. And  the  odor  of  vast,  stale,  filthy  age 
penetrates  everything,  —  centuries  which  have 
never  kept  clean,  centuries  which  have  crumbled 
and  decayed,  centuries  which  have  piled  up  ruin 
and  filth  and  refuse  without  human  molesta- 
tion. Now  and  then  a  mediaeval  tower  looks 
down  upon  one  of  these  narrow  ways;  often 
bridges  leap  from  house  to  house,  and  arches 
criss-cross  before  the  blue  sky-line  above. 

And  here  is  Spoleto  of  the  Romans :  in  this 
great  stone  wall  forming  the  substructure  of  a 
mediaeval  house,  with  its  huge  oblong  blocks  of 
volcanic  stone,  cut  and  fitted  with  perfect  accu- 
racy. Here  is  another  bit  of  such  wall,  and  there 


98  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

another,  and  so  they  are  found  from  street  to 
street,  with  now  and  then  a  spanning  archway 
of  that  period,  quite  intact.  But  the  greatest  of 
the  Roman  remains  is  the  so-called  Gate  of  Han- 
nibal, or  Porta  della  Fuga,  which  once  formed 
part  of  the  city  wall,  and  from  which  the  citizens 
repulsed  the  Carthaginian  in  B.  c.  217,  marching 
triumphantly  from  his  victory  at  Thrasymene. 
To  reach  this  relic  I  searched  hyway  after  byway 
on  the  northwest  side  of  the  town,  until  I  found 
one  curving  downward  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees  in  a  series  of  tunnels  beneath  the  houses ; 
and  imbedded  in  one  of  these  tunnels  was  the 
arch,  surely  of  Roman  workmanship,  of  larger 
stones  than  usual.  An  inscription  on  the  outer 
side  of  the  keystone  related  the  facts.  I  said  to 
myself  that  if  the  Roman  wall  was  built  of  such 
stone,  and  the  ground  without  ran  down  at  this 
angle,  it  was  no  wonder  that  Hannibal  marched 
away  again. 

Finally,  here  is  Spoleto  of  the  Pelasgic  period, 
—  yes,  actually,  of  the  Pelasgic  period !  —  before 
Rome  was  born,  before  Etruria  flourished,  be- 
fore the  Umbrians  came  down  from  the  north  ! 
I  stumbled  upon  this  relic,  —  and  it  is  an  ex- 
tensive one,  —  by  the  purest  luck,  in  strolling 
about  the  city ;  for  it  is  mentioned  by  no  guide- 
book or  previous  traveler  that  I  know  of.  Reas- 
cending  from  the  Porta  della  Fuga,  I  took  a  wide 
street  that  curves  to  the  right  and  runs  across 


SPOLETO  99 

the  town  from  west  to  east,  and  is  for  some  way 
practically  a  terrace,  with  only  a  parapet  on  the 
left,  and  a  high  wall  upon  the  right.  This  wall 
evidently  banked  in  the  higher  ground,  for  the 
backs  of  dwellings  rose  upon  it  forty  feet  above. 
Suddenly  I  perceived  that  the  whole  lower  part 
of  it  was  of  cyclopean  formation,  —  gigantic 
polygonal  stones,  cut  and  set  as  the  Pelasgi 
worked  them,  with  leveled  faces  and  straight 
edges.  It  was  astonishing  to  me  to  find  these  valu- 
able remains  in  the  heart  of  Spoleto.  The  cyclo- 
pean work  extended  as  high  as  fifteen  feet  from 
the  present  ground  level,  and  ran  along  for  a 
distance  of  a  hundred  yards.  It  was  evident  that 
this  was  the  town  wall  four  thousand  years  ago. 
The  rapid  descent  of  the  ground  without  made 
it  natural;  and  a  gentleman  who  then  came 
along  said  that  such  was  the  fact  according  to 
local  tradition  and  research.  A  little  further  on, 
just  under  a  ruined  church  which  lifted  its  broken 
apse  atop  the  wall,  he  showed  me  Roman  work 
superimposed  upon  the  Pelasgic;  for  once  the 
Roman  looked  small. 

Spoleto  shows  that  the  picturesque  town,  or 
the  ancient  town  with  a  history  and  interesting 
remains,  is  not  necessarily  still  aboriginal ;  and 
that  the  alteration  of  the  ancient  aspect  by  the 
Renaissance,  or  by  modern  streets  and  buildings, 
does  not  necessarily  destroy  the  picturesqueness 
or  the  interest.  In  saying  this  I  am  comparing 


100  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Spoleto  with  the  old  towns  of  Etruria,  and  with 
Narni  and  Amelia.  It  is  true  that  one  can  find 
the  mediaeval  unchanged  only  in  such  places  as 
Amelia  or  Nepi,  and  thus  only  can  see  exactly 
what  a  town  of  that  period  really  was.  But  the 
alteration  of  Spoleto  by  the  addition  of  its  renais- 
sance buildings,  the  putting  through  of  its  mod- 
ern streets  with  their  stores  and  dwellings,  and 
the  general  plastering  of  fagades,  has  not  de- 
stroyed all  the  ancient  or  the  medieval,  — which 
can  still  be  seen  in  appropriate  surroundings, — 
but  has  taken  away  the  gloom  of  antiquity  and 
substituted  the  cheeriness  and  cleanliness  of  to- 
day, has  destroyed  much  of  the  ugliness  and 
most  of  the  filth,  and  added  the  beautiful.  So 
Spoleto  is  not  dark  and  oppressive  —  like  Civita 
Castellana,  or  Narni,  or  even  Orvieto  —  but  is 
happy  and  beautiful. 

There  is  a  difference,  too,  in  these  Umbrian 
people.  They  appear  cleaner,  better  dressed  and 
more  intelligent  than  those  of  Etruria  or  of  the 
Nera.  They  certainly  live  better,  and  have  more 
education.  And  their  civility  is  proverbial.  Civ- 
ility is  a  most  important  thing  to  a  stranger.  It 
is  far  pleasanter  to  meet  with  smiles  and  greet- 
ings than  with  hostile  stares  and  remarks.  All 
of  the  Umbrian  peasantry  and  a  good  part  of 
the  town  people  invariably  greet  the  stranger 
with  a  pleasant  "  Buon  giorno." 

I  visited,  in  a  succession  of  delightful  walks, 


SPOLETO  101 

the  old  churches  which  lie  without  the  walls  of 
Spoleto  like  a  girdle  of  piety  to  preserve  it  from 
evil.  Four  of  them  were  built  before  1300 
and  are  very  curious  in  their  fagades,  though 
three  of  these  have  been  reconstructed  and 
whitewashed  within.  San  Pietro,  which  was  the 
cathedral  of  the  town  until  1067,  lies  directly 
south  of  it  in  the  vale  of  the  Tessino.  I  went 
out  there  on  a  Sunday  morning  when  the  bells 
all  over  the  city  were  sounding  a  grand  chorus 
of  invitation  to  service,  and  the  streets  were 
filled  with  the  city  people  and  peasantry  in  best 
attire,  —  the  women  all  wearing  multi-colored  silk 
handkerchiefs  over  their  heads,  so  that  a  vista 
down  a  sloping  way  was  like  a  kaleidoscope.  I 
descended  from  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emmanuele 
to  one  of  the  southern  gates,  and  walked  with- 
out alongside  the  Tessino  ;  the  town  dips  rapidly 
enough  from  the  height  of  the  castle  to  meet 
this  stream  as  it  curves  around  from  the  ravine 
below  that  stronghold.  And  the  vale  stretches 
away  southward  into  the  mountains,  soft  and 
beautiful  in  their  bosom,  snuggling  as  it  were 
into  the  caresses  of  the  rounded,  gentle  hills.  San 
Pietro  lies  on  one  side  of  the  stream,  at  the  head 
of  a  high  flight  of  steps ;  San  Paolo  on  the 
other,  with  its  convent  buildings  buried  in  trees. 
Mounting  the  steps  I  examined  the  fa§ade  of 
San  Pietro  with  much  interest ;  the  church  we 
know  stood  as  early  as  the  fifth  century,  but  the 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SANTA  UAU13ARA  COLLEGE  LiLlilAB 


102  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

extraordinary  bas-reliefs  between  its  portals  must 
have  been  added  in  the  later  Middle  Ages.  These 
reliefs  are  mainly  of  beasts  in  all  sorts  of  curi- 
ous attitudes  and  exercises  :  devouring  each  other, 
preaching,  and  praying.  Across  the  fagade  run 
several  decorative  cornices,  with  the  classic  block 
moulding ;  this  moulding  adheres  also  to  the 
edges  of  the  peaked  roof.  It  was  very  interest- 
ing indeed  to  find  Romanesque  so  near  the  clas- 
sic. When  this  fagade  was  built  the  art  and 
learning  of  Rome  had  been  lost  so  short  a  time 
that  architects  evidently  still  endeavored  to  fol- 
low the  Graco-Roman  lines.  These  mouldings 
seemed  to  me  like  the  last  gasp  of  the  classic 
under  the  descending  darkness  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  I  know  no  other  place  where  the  merging 
of  antique  forms  at  their  expiring  breath  into 
the  Romanesque  is  found  so  perfectly  as  in  these 
churches  about  Spoleto. 

Within  San  Pietro,  there  was  nothing  to  draw 
the  eye  except  a  marble  statue  of  St.  Peter  sit- 
ting in  the  nave,  of  similar  size  and  attitude  to 
the  one  in  Rome,  and  the  disclosure  of  some 
fragments  of  early  frescoes  from  beneath  their 
coat  of  whitewash  on  the  entrance  wall.  The 
whole  church  was  probably  once  richly  decorated 
with  these  frescoes  ;  which  would  be  of  immense 
interest  to-day  as  examples  of  mediaeval  Um- 
brian  art. 

I  crossed  over  to  San  Paolo,  following  a  beau- 


SPOLETO  103 

tiful  lane  between  thick  hedges  topped  by  grace- 
ful elms.  Other  such  lanes  crossed  the  vale  here 
and  there,  in  which  I  saw  the  blue  coats  of  sol- 
diers of  the  regiment  stationed  at  Spoleto,  stroll- 
ing in  couples  on  their  Sabbath  outing.  To  the 
left,  upon  a  rolling  hill  soft  with  fields  of  light 
green  wheat  dotted  with  groves  of  lighter  olive 
trees,  stood  a  convent  encircled  by  the  black 
spires  of  cypresses,  through  which  a  pretty  log- 
gia at  the  top  looked  towards  Spoleto.  To  the 
right  lay  the  city,  white  and  brown  behind  its 
old  gray  walls,  and  further  on  beneath  the  castle 
on  the  east,  the  deep  ravine  crossed  by  its  mighty 
bridge. 

At  San  Paolo  I  found  the  same  sort  of  early 
Romanesque  fagade,  with  classic  decorations, 
now  crumbling  and  broken  :  a  simpler,  smaller 
thing  than  San  Pietro.  Within  there  was  no- 
thing of  interest. 

Another  walk  took  me  from  the  southern  gate 
of  San  Luca,  across  the  meadows  of  San  Paolo, 
to  the  arcade  of  Madonna  di  Loreto.  This  arcade 
runs  by  a  long  succession  of  arches  from  the 
city  wall  to  the  church  of  that  name,  built  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  quite  plain  and  un- 
inviting. But  the  arcade  made  it  picturesque,  — 
so  many,  many  arches,  each  erected  once  on  a 
time  with  much  pain  and  labor,  plodding  a  third 
of  a  mile  over  the  valley  to  the  church  at  the 
end,  above  which  rose  a  hill  beautiful  with  fields 
and  orchards. 


104  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

San  Ponziano  on  the  east  of  the  city  I  found 
more  interesting  :  it  has  the  same  early  Roman- 
esque facade,  with  lintels  and  cornices  which  one 
would  think  at  first  glance  to  be  renaissance, 
but  which  are  survivals  of  the  classic  ;  and  fur- 
ther, a  cornice  or  string-course  running  along 
the  sides  and  around  the  apse  composed  of  little 
arches  in  relief  without  columns,  —  the  decora- 
tion of  early  churches  which  they  have  always 
called  Byzantine.  It  is  found  upon  the  Byzan- 
tine churches  of  Ravenna  and  Pisa.  The  finding 
of  it  here,  at  San  Ponziano,  and  on  several 
others  of  the  early  churches  about  Spoleto, 
shows  it  to  be  purely  a  survival  of  the  classic. 

On  the  same  hill  with  San  Ponziano,  further 
up,  stands  San  Agostino  del  Crocifisso,  on  a 
terrace  behind  a  pretty  burial-ground  lined  with 
little  cypresses,  and  looking  out  toward  the  city. 
In  walking  there  I  stopped  to  look  in  at  the 
cemetery  through  the  iron  gates.  The  grave- 
stones are  placed  flat  upon  the  ground,  as  closely 
together  as  cut  stones  in  a  wall ;  upon  them  sit 
occasional  monuments,  of  every  design.  Then 
comes  a  space  of  ground  devoted  to  shrubs  and 
grass  ;  then  another  little  marble  floor  of  grave- 
stones. I  saw  no  separation  into  families  —  per- 
haps the  rich  can  do  this  —  but  men  of  differ- 
ent names  lay  side  by  side.  The  pretty  trees,  — 
just  like  the  toy  ones  which  we  give  to  children 
to  play  with,  —  lined  the  outer  wall  of  the  ceme- 


SPOLETO  105 

tery.  Proceeding  to  the  terrace  above  I  reached 
the  fagade  of  the  church,  which  was  erected  in 
the  fifth  century  upon  the  remains  of  a  Roman 
temple.  The  plain  wall  is  pierced  by  three  beau- 
tiful classic  doorways  and  three  classic  windows. 
The  marble  jambs  and  lintels  of  the  doors  are 
finely  moulded,  and  enriched  with  a  pattern  of 
wreaths  in  bas-relief ;  the  windows,  also  marble, 
have  handsomely  carved  columns  at  each  angle, 
upholding  ornate  cornices.  It  was  a  wonder  to  me 
to  see  such  work,  done  at  a  period  when  Rome 
had  fallen,  civilization  had  fallen,  and  art  is  sup- 
posed also  to  have  fallen. 

The  interior  of  the  church  is  still  more  remark- 
able; it  is  not  a  church,  it  is  the  old  Roman 
temple  itself.  I  saw,  to  my  amazement,  the 
Doric  columns,  which  formed  the  portico  of  the 
temple,  protruding  from  the  walls  of  the  nave, 
and  the  Ionic  and  Corinthian  columns  which 
formed  its  cella,  upholding  the  dome  of  the  choir. 
The  structure  has  not  been  changed  since  Roman 
days  except  in  building  up  between  the  columns 
of  the  portico,  and  adding  the  dome  to  the  cella. 
I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  find  as  this.  It 
is  another  thing  alone  worth  going  to  Spoleto 
for.  Above  the  side  columns  of  the  cella  the 
ancient  entablature  is  still  preserved,  with  a  beau- 
tiful Doric  frieze ;  which  is  unfortunately  lost  in 
the  portico.  As  I  stood  there  gazing  it  was  very 
easy  to  conjure  up  the  sight  of  the  Spoletans  of 


106  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Roman  times  coming  over  in  tunic  and  toga  from 
the  ancient  city,  —  which  lay  then  upon  her  hill 
just  about  the  same  in  appearance  as  she  does  to- 
day, —  and  entering  here  to  lay  their  offerings 
before  the  god  who  sat  enthroned  in  the  cella. 
How  beautiful  the  environs  of  Spoleto  must  have 
been  in  those  peaceful,  artistic  days,  if  they  are 
so  beautiful  now.  This  was  but  one  of  the  many 
temples  that  graced  the  hills  about.  It  is  no  won- 
der that  the  architects  of  succeeding  darker  cen- 
turies were  unable  to  forget  the  Greek  forms  of 
beauty;  for  they  had  them  right  here  in  this 
preserved  temple  of  San  Agostino  to  remind  and 
instruct. 

As  I  came  out  from  the  building  on  to  the 
terrace  again,  the  beautiful  view  from  it  drew 
my  attention.  Across  the  vale  of  the  Tessino 
lay  Spoleto,  sloping  up  with  brown  roofs  to  the 
cathedral  tower  far  above ;  the  fagades  curved 
gently  in  concentric  lines ;  a  dome  soared  here 
and  there  above  the  tiling.  Hemming  it  all  in, 
the  ancient  gray  stone  wall  crept  up  the  hillside 
in  broken  steps,  to  the  vast  crag  of  the  castle  on 
the  left :  that  wonderful  old  castle  with  its  battle- 
ments and  loopholes,  —  which  the  Romans  used 
two  thousand  years  ago,  where  the  dukes  of 
Spoleto  reigned  in  state  for  centuries,  and  the 
Papal  viceroys  for  other  centuries  held  their 
sway.  What  a  panoply  and  pomp  of  power,  what 
a  glistening  of  shields  and  spears,  it  has  seen! 


SPOLETO  107 

Lucretia  Borgia  lived  there  for  a  year  before  she 
went  to  Nepi.  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
sorry  she  must  have  been  to  exchange  this  beau- 
tiful prospect  for  the  gloom  of  that  Etruscan 
town.  Here  she  had  always  the  picturesque  city 
below,  and  the  fair  rolling  mountains  closing 
round  about,  dotted  with  white  shrines  and  mon- 
asteries and  churches,  —  just  as  I  saw  them  now. 
Lovely  Spoleto !  Never  can  I  forget  the  charm 
of  your  rich  green  hillsides,  matted  with  tufted 
trees,  or  soft  and  pastoral  with  meadows  and 
orchards ;  nor  the  wondrous  vale  of  Tessino  in 
its  ever  changing  aspect,  —  here  low  and  gentle, 
with  San  Ponziano  and  San  Agostino  looking 
across  to  the  town,  —  there  dread  and  shadowy  in 
its  chasm  beneath  the  castle,  —  there  again,  on 
the  southern  side,  spreading  out  into  a  fertile 
basin  with  fields  of  grain,  shady  lanes,  and  groves 
of  mighty  oaks,  with  the  domes  of  San  Pietro 
and  San  Paolo  in  the  midst,  —  then  winding  up 
into  the  bosom  of  the  curving,  verdure-clad 
mountains  to  its  source.  Tessino  is  what  helps 
so  much  to  make  each  walk  a  succession  of  never- 
tiring  vistas,  each  vista  more  beautiful  than  the 
last.  And  when  in  strolling  we  reach  the  top  of 
one  of  her  enfolding  hills,  there  to  the  north 
stretches  the  marvelous  plain  of  Umbria,  one  vast 
luxuriant  garden  sprinkled  with  white  buildings, 
stretching  on  to  Trevi  and  Foligno  and  Spello 
and  Assisi. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TREVI,    FOLIGNO,    MONTEFALCO,    BEVAGNA 

IT  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  I  departed  from 
the  old  albergo  at  Spoleto  and  its  agreeable 
hosts ;  the  great  rooms  that  seemed  so  dark  and 
dismal  on  my  first  arrival  had  become  cheerful 
and  homelike,  and  I  knew  how  much  I  should 
miss  the  gay  wood  fire  in  my  palatial  apartment 
over  which  I  had  been  sitting  in  the  cool  May 
evenings.  I  took  a  morning  train  for  Trevi ;  and 
we  rattled  away  in  the  little  cars  through  the 
smiling  plain.  An  endless  succession  of  wheat 
fields  passed  by  the  window,  —  the  grain  a  little 
over  a  foot  in  height,  and  sometimes  so  thickly 
grown  with  poppies  as  to  make  it  vividly  red  in- 
stead of  green.  But  the  effect  was  of  traveling 
through  orchards,  because  all  the  fields  were  set 
with  rows  of  trees  —  fruit,  or  olive,  or  stunted 
elm  —  entwined  with  grape  vines.  This  is  the 
ancient  custom  of  Umbria  and  Tuscany, — to  have 
the  vines  sustained  by  the  trunks  and  branches 
of  trees  set  in  rows,  which  their  vigorous  grasp 
has  dwarfed ;  and  the  rich  leaves  of  the  grape, 
as  summer  grows  on,  swing  from  tree  to  tree  in 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    109 

endless  avenues  of  garlands.  Everywhere,  also,  I 
saw  enormous  graceful  elms,  untouched  by  the 
vine,  lining  the  fields,  or  gathered  in  copses. 
Here  was  a  meadow  of  crimson  clover  glistening 
in  the  sun;  and  there  an  acre  mastered  com- 
pletely by  the  wild  mignonette  and  poppy,  min- 
gling their  scarlet  and  white  in  exquisite  profu- 
sion. 

Always  beyond  rose  the  steep  sides  of  the 
mountains,  clad  in  vineyards  and  olive  groves. 
There  appeared  an  ancient  village  upon  a  ridge, 
looking  like  a  mass  of  gray  ruins ;  but  closer  in- 
spection showed  that  the  ruins  were  those  of  a 
fallen  castle  and  the  houses  which  formerly  clus- 
tered about,  all  surrounded  by  a  broken  wall; 
and  that  without  lay  modern  dwellings.  It  was 
really  a  cheerful  sight,  —  the  first  instance 
I  had  seen  of  the  peasantry  forsaking  their 
mediaeval  filthy  town,  and  building  new  and  more 
comfortable  homes  in  civilized  style.  Soon  we 
passed  another  instance :  the  castle  and  its  en- 
ceinte sat  crumbling  and  deserted  on  the  high 
hillside,  and  neat-looking  houses  were  gathered 
below  at  the  edge  of  the  valley  amidst  gardens 
and  trees.  Then  came  a  really  modern  village, 
with  isolated  houses  scattered  in  the  luxuriant 
plain  and  running  a  short  way  up  the  hill.  In- 
deed we  were  getting  north,  towards  Tuscany 
and  Tuscan  influence.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  get 
the  peasantry  to  abandon  their  ancient  squalid 


110  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

villages ;  it  is  the  best  step  towards  cleanliness, 
comfort,  and  education. 

After  passing  a  vast  grove  of  olive  trees, 
reaching  up  the  mountainside  for  half  a  mile  and 
running  along  for  several  miles  in  length,  Trevi 
came  in  sight  close  at  hand.  More  extraor- 
dinary it  looked  than  from  the  walls  of  Spoleto. 
No  town  could  he  perched  on  a  steeper  pinnacle ; 
otherwise  it  would  surely  fall  off.  It  does  not  sit 
upon  the  flat  top  of  a  rock  like  Orvieto ;  it 
scrambles  up  the  sides  of  a  hill  shaped  like  a 
cone,  each  house  stepping  upon  the  one  below  it, 
until  they  terminate  nearly  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  plain  in  the  great  dome  of  a  cathedral.  This 
is  like  Amelia,  and  like  Montefiascone,  only  far 
more  perpendicular. 

On  dismounting  from  the  train  I  saw  no  horse 
in  sight,  and  looked  aghast  at  the  pyramid  be- 
fore me.  But  a  vettura  finally  appeared  from 
beneath  a  shed,  to  my  immense  relief .  Evidently 
they  have  few  visitors  at  Trevi.  We  mounted 
by  a  new  road  which  had  to  go  far  back  on  a 
mountain  side  in  the  rear  of  the  town,  in  order 
to  make  loops  enough  for  the  ascent.  Before  this 
way  was  constructed,  no  vehicle  could  reach  the 
town :  they  had  no  use  for  vehicles  when  they 
built  Trevi.  Horses  and  donkeys  could  clamber 
up  the  precipitous  ways  which  I  saw  cut  in  the 
rock  with  steps.  Shortly  before  reaching  the 
walls  we  passed  the  church  of  St.  Maria  delle 


TREVI,    PERCHED   ON   A   STEEP   PINNACLE 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    111 

Lagrime,  and  I  descended  to  examine  it.  There 
was  a  very  beautiful '  marble '  Renaissance  portal, 
with  pilasters  supporting  a  cornice,  and  a  frieze 
in  pattern  running  along  the  jambs  and  lintel. 
Within  it  was  very  curious  indeed :  a  nave  with- 
out aisles,  and  whitewashed  save  for  two  slightly 
recessed  chapels  on  each  side,  which  were  com- 
pletely covered  with  frescoes  —  back,  walls,  and 
arches.  In  the  second  chapel  on  the  right  was  a 
wonderful  Adoration  of  the  Magi  by  Perugino : 
the  Madonna  seated  with  the  Child  beneath  a 
belvedere,  —  the  wise  men  in  front  and  to  the 
right  below,  spectators  at  the  sides,  and  in 
the  rear  a  beautiful  landscape,  seen  through  the 
belvedere,  with  soft  golden  atmosphere.  The 
grouping  and  grace  of  this  are  as  lovely  as  usual 
with  Perugino,  and  the  background  gives  the  pic- 
ture distinction,  making  it  not  only  ideal  but  real. 
In  the  left  transept  I  found  a  work  of  Lo  Spagna's, 
an  Entombment,  remarkable  for  its  freedom  of 
movement  and  composition. 

We  finally  entered  the  town  from  the  mountain 
in  the  rear,  being  already  two  thirds  of  the  way 
up  to  the  cathedral ;  and  the  road  swept  around 
the  hillside  in  a  three-quarter  circle,  affording 
magnificent  views  over  the  plain  above  the  tops 
of  the  houses  next  below.  The  ascent  is  so  steep 
that  the  roofs  of  these  houses  do  not  rise  to  the 
level  of  the  street.  The  vettura  left  me  at  a  little 
inn  inside  the  gate  on  the  northern  side,  where 


112  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

some  private  soldiers  and  cats  were  quarreling 
in  the  dirty  eating-room.  The  buxom  landlady, 
however,  ushered  me  to  the  state  salon  above, 
and  provided  me  with  a  lunch  not  at  all  unpala- 
table. Thereafter  I  felt  equal  to  climbing  about 
the  town,  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  laboring 
up  and  down  its  dark  and  tortuous  ways.  Streets 
they  cannot  be  called,  —  rather  staircases.  No 
vehicle  could  traverse  any  of  them,  and  some  a 
horse  alone  could  not.  The  one  level  spot  is  the 
Piazza,  made  picturesque  by  a  municipio  arcaded 
with  heavy  pillars,  from  which  an  arch  crosses 
to  a  medieval  clock-and-bell  tower.  In  the  muni- 
cipio I  found  a  little  collection  of  paintings  in  a 
single  room,  brightened  by  the  presence  of  three 
works  of  Lo  Spagna.  From  the  Piazza  it  was 
but  a  short  climb  to  the  cathedral,  crowded  by 
houses  on  all  sides,  and  having  nothing  interest- 
ing within  save  a  curious  wooden  statue  of  St. 
Peter,  almost  archaic,  upon  the  fingers  of  which 
the  faithful  had  hung  many  trinkets;  these 
caused  him  to  appear  to  be  a  showman  exhibit- 
ing his  wares,  instead  of  extending  a  blessing. 

The  ways  of  Trevi,  however,  are  not  so  grim 
and  ancient  as  those  of  Amelia  or  Montefiascone. 
A  great  many  of  the  fagades  are  stuccoed,  and 
there  are  everywhere  remains  of  the  palaces  of 
the  Renaissance :  windows  handsomely  barred 
and  corniced,  stringcourses,  doorways  with  carved 
lintels,  rustica-work,  and  heavy  cornicioni.  Often 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    113 

a  whole  fagade  has  preserved  its  elegant  pro- 
portions and  details.  I  reflected  that  Trevi  must 
have  been  wealthy  four  hundred  years  ago, — 
more  so  than  now ;  and  that  is  naturally  true, 
for  then  all  persons  had  fled  from  the  Campagna 
to  the  mountain  towns  for  protection,  and  there 
must  have  been  here  several  times  the  present 
population  of  twelve  hundred.  Beyond  its  im- 
portance in  the  Middle  Ages  arising  from  its 
impregnable  position,  I  knew  of  no  history  to 
Trevi ;  yet  the  town  is  ancient,  —  it  was  called 
by  the  Romans  Trebia. 

One  of  the  winding  passages  let  me  out  upon 
the  street  again,  where  I  was  able  to  enjoy  at 
leisure  the  wonderful  view.  This  was  quite  a 
different  point  of  outlook  from  the  mountain 
side  back  of  Spoleto ;  here  I  was  well  down  the 
valley,  there  the  whole  valley  stretched  away 
before  me  in  one  direction.  The  Umbrian  plain 
now  lay  below  like  a  map,  —  or  rather  like  a 
dense  flat  mass  of  verdure,  sprinkled  with  the 
white  of  villages ;  and  across  it  here  and  there 
drifted  the  gentle  shadows  of  light  clouds.  I  saw 
Spoleto  to  the  south,  curving  up  her  hill  to 
the  brown  castle,  surrounded  by  the  arms  of 
the  mountains.  Directly  opposite  Trevi  sat  the 
old  Umbrian  town  of  Montefalco  at  a  still  greater 
height,  cresting  a  peak  with  her  walls  and  towers. 
To  the  north  Foligno  glistened  with  her  white 
domes  in  the  green  foliage  of  the  plain;  and 


114  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

beyond  rose  Spello  and  Assisi  from  the  eastern 
mountain  sides,  —  nearer  now  than  when  I  first 
saw  them,  and  more  distinguishable  as  to  battle- 
ment, church,  and  campanile. 

I  crossed  from  Trevi  by  the  hillside  in  the 
rear  to  an  adjacent  spur  where  sat  the  church  of 
San  Martino  behind  a  row  of  cypresses.  There 
was  a  very  beautiful  fresco  by  Lo  Spagna  here, 
in  an  outside  chapel,  a  Madonna  with  angels  in 
vestments  of  marvelous  hues.  The  more  one 
sees  of  this  artist,  so  little  found  outside  of  Um- 
bria,  the  more  one  admires  him.  —  Then  we  de- 
scended again  the  long  windings  of  the  road 
to  the  station,  and  I  departed  for  Foligno. 

Entering  Foligno  reminded  me  of  entering 
Terni.  In  both  cases  I  came  down  from  mount- 
ain towns  of  the  past,  and  found  a  new  satis- 
faction in  the  wider,  level,  and  less  picturesque 
streets  of  the  present.  Foligno,  also,  like  Terni, 
is  a  junction  on  the  railroad ;  from  here  the 
main  line  continues  on  across  the  mountains  to 
Ancona  on  the  Adriatic,  and  a  side  line  diverges 
to  Assisi  and  Perugia.  The  station,  as  always, 
is  outside  the  city  ;  and  to  enter  the  latter  I  found 
myself  driven  along  a  handsome  tree-lined  road 
to  the  southern  gate,  and  thence  along  the  main 
street,  which  runs  to  the  piazza  in  the  centre.  At 
Foligno,  with  its  nine  thousand  inhabitants  and 
modern  prosperity,  I  expected  a  good  hotel ; 
and  was  not  disappointed.  After  settling  down 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    115 

at  this,  there  was  still  time  before  sunset  to  get 
an  idea  of  the  place ;  so  I  started  for  a  walk. 

The  topography  of  Foligno  is  very  simple  — 
rather  a  contrast  to  what  I  had  been  experien- 
cing ;  —  the  Corso  runs  north  to  the  Piazza,  be- 
tween plastered  facades  and  corniced  windows 
and  one  stretch  of  modern  arcades ;  and  from 
the  Piazza  another  main  street  runs  directly  to  the 
western  gate,  and  a  smaller  street  to  the  northern 
gate.  But  really,  they  are  all  small.  The  Corso 
itself  is  not  over  twenty-five  feet  from  wall  to 
wall,  and  the  other  ways  are  less.  The  Corso 
is  the  most  modern ;  in  it  are  the  newer  build- 
ings and  principal  shops.  The  Piazza  is  a  plea- 
sant surprise.  I  found  it  almost  as  picturesque 
as  some  town  of  the  Lombard  plain  long  domin- 
ated and  built  up  by  a  tyrant  dynasty.  There 
lay  the  cathedral,  with  its  west  transept  facing 
the  square  in  early  Romanesque  quaintness,  and 
round  about  stretched  the  old  palaces  with  their 
picturesque  fagades.  And  there  were  tyrants  here 
also,  —  the  family  of  the  Trinci,  who  terrorized 
and  ruled  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  in  the 
fifteenth  up  to  1439,  when  Foligno  was  incor- 
porated with  Papal  territory.  From  the  house 
next  the  cathedral  a  graceful  old  brick  bridge 
leaped  across  to  the  palace  of  the  Trinci,  with 
its  huge  columns  in  relief  upon  the  fagade, 
and  heavy  cornicione.  Under  the  bridge  ran  the 
way  to  the  northern  gate,  into  seeming  darkness 


116  HILL   TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

between  high  walls.  All  along  the  western  side 
of  the  Piazza  lay  the  huge  Palazzo  Municipale, 
also  with  great  columns  in  relief  and  topped  by  a 
machicolated  tower ;  save  that  between  it  and 
the  palace  of  the  Trinci  intervened  the  once 
handsome  dwelling  of  the  princely  house  of  Or- 
fini,  built  in  palmy  renaissance  days,  and  now 
mutilated,  with  its  graceful  loggia  built  up  in 
brick  and  plaster. 

I  came  to  the  Piazza  again  two  days  later  in 
the  bright  morning  sunshine,  when  it  was  market 
time,  and  the  little  stalls  of  the  peasants  filled  it 
from  end  to  end.  Fresh  vegetables  were  piled 
upon  them,  under  green  umbrellas,  and  heaped 
upon  the  ground ;  and  hundreds  of  picturesque 
old  women  with  bodices  and  kerchiefs  of  varie- 
gated hues  chattered  and  gesticulated  with  ve- 
hemence. Doubtless  they  were  here  just  the 
same,  I  thought,  when  the  Trinci  looked  darkly 
down  from  the  narrow  barred  windows  of  their 
palace  fortress. 

The  Via  Principe  Amedeo,  which  runs  between 
the  palaces  of  the  Trinci  and  Orfini  to  the  west- 
ern gate,  is  more  suggestive  of  those  old  days 
even  than  the  Piazza.  It  slips  darkly  along  be- 
tween brownish  mediaeval  walls  of  brick,  graced 
by  Renaissance  window-ledges  and  cornices,  and 
Renaissance  doorways  and  mouldings.  Here 
and  there  is  a  little  loggia.  Sometimes  these 
details  are  of  stone;  as  often  of  brick  also. 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    117 

Most  suggestive  and  reminiscent  of  mediaeval 
days  were  the  gratings  of  the  first  story  win- 
dows, varying  from  plain  bars  to  fancy  curved 
grilles,  bait  all  strong  enough  to  keep  out  in 
those  times  the  enemy  next  door. 

The  vistas  down  the  side-ways  running  off 
the  Via  Principe  Amedeo  were,  like  those  from 
the  Corso,  of  narrow  ugly  lanes,  often  filled 
with  rubbish ;  but  they  revealed  one  curious  fact : 
Poligno  is  rectangular.  The  lanes  are  all  as 
straight  as  a  die,  and  cross  each  other  at  right 
angles.  This  is  a  very  extraordinary  thing  to 
find  in  Italy  south  of  the  Lombard  plain ;  and 
there  can  be  only  one  reason  for  it.  Foligno 
must  have  been  laid  out  by  the  Romans ;  quite 
likely  upon  the  site  of  one  of  their  legionary 
camps.  It  would  not  have  grown  naturally  with 
that  regularity ;  in  fact,  neither  in  pre-Roman 
nor  in  mediaeval  times  would  Foligno  have  been 
founded  in  its  present  situation  at  all.  Very 
peaceful  times,  such  as  Rome  alone  was  able  to 
enforce,  were  necessary  for  the  growth  and  ex- 
istence of  a  town  so  exposed  on  the  plain  to  easy 
capture.  Foligno's  experience  in  the  dark  ages 
shows  this,  when  she  was  occupied  by  every  suc- 
cessive barbarian  horde,  and  sacked  and  ruled, 
when  they  had  gone,  by  the  neighboring  princi- 
palities. Finally,  at  a  time  when  the  dawn  of  the 
Renaissance  was  glowing  on  the  horizon,  in  1281, 
Perugia  marched  down  and  destroyed  the  poor 


118  HILL   TOWNS  OF   ITALY 

little  town  completely,  and  she  arose  once  more 
from  her  ruins  only  under  the  firm  rule  of 
the  Trinci  and  the  subsequent  protection  of  the 
Popes.  She  may  once  have  been  stone  ;  but  she 
arose  brick.  The  universality  of  brick  construc- 
tion —  usually  uncovered  by  plaster,  save  in  the 
Corso  —  is  as  striking  in  Foligno  as  her  rectan- 
gularity.  There  are  probably  good  clay  beds 
near  by ;  and  it  is  a  long  haul  to  bring  stone 
from  the  mountains. 

It  gave  me  a  sort  of  satisfaction  to  think  that 
this  old  town,  so  defenseless  and  down-trodden 
by  her  neighbors  in  the  Middle  Ages,  is  getting 
the  better  of  them  at  last.  In  these  modern 
peaceful  times  her  situation  in  the  plain  has  given 
her  the  advantage ;  and  she  will  continue  to 
forge  far  ahead  in  population  and  wealth  for 
centuries  to  come,  while  her  former  oppressors 
sit  stagnant  and  crumbling  upon  their  pinnacles. 
The  wheel  of  fortune  always  turns,  be  it  ever  so 
slowly. 

The  Via  Principe  Amedeo  before  reaching 
the  western  gate  runs  into  a  wide  piazza,  upon 
which  front  two  of  Foligno's  few  churches ;  and 
one  of  these  I  found  externally  quite  interest- 
ing,—  S.  Maria  infra  Portas.  It  is  an  old  Roman- 
esque brick  edifice,  with  a  peculiar  eighth-century 
stone  portico,  and  a  high  picturesque  tower.  The 
portico  is  of  one  story,  with  four  Romanesque 
columns  having  rough-leaved  capitals,  all  differ- 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA  H9 

ent,  and  appears  to  be  half  sunk  in  the  ground ; 
it  rests  upon  a  flooring  several  feet  lower  than 
the  present  piazza.  In  marked  contrast  to  this 
was  the  great  gothic  portal  of  the  church  on  the 
north  side,  now  used  as  a  gymnasium.  And  be- 
tween this  Romanesque  and  this  gothic  ran  the 
street  directly  to  the  high  battlemented  town 
gate  at  a  little  distance ;  a  charming  vista,  com- 
bining so  much  of  the  picturesque,  the  suggest- 
ive, and  the  historical. 

Near  by,  north  of  the  Via  Principe  Amedeo, 
is  the  church  of  San  Niccolo,  in  which  I  found 
a  charming  altar-piece  by  Niccolo  da  Foligno, 
a  native  of  this  town  who,  with  Ottaviano  Nelli 
da  Gubbio  and  Gentile  da  Fabriano  formed  a  trio 
of  the  principal  early  masters  of  the  Umbrian 
school  of  painting.  Laboring  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  succeeding  Giotto  though  not  of  his 
school,  they  seem  to  fill  the  gap  in  the  advance- 
ment of  art  in  this  region  between  that  master 
and  Buonfigli  and  Perugino.  This  altar-piece 
is  a  Nativity,  surrounded  by  the  figures  of  twelve 
saints  in  separate  panels,and  seemed  to  me  remark- 
ably well  grouped  and  drawn,  with  the  true 
Umbrian  softness  of  tone,  color,  and  expression. 

Foligno  is  the  best  place  from  which  to  visit 
the  old  towns  of  Bevagna  and  Montefalco  —  the 
former  lying  on  the  western  edge  of  the  plain, 
and  the  latter  perched  on  a  high  hill  opposite 
Trevi.  So  I  started  off  for  them  one  pleasant 


120  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

morning,  driving  through  the  continuous  orchards, 
which  bear  not  apples  nor  pears  nor  peaches,  but 
grapes.  The  leaves  of  the  vine  hung  thickly  and 
brightly  from  the  stunted  branches  of  the  trees, 
and  swiftly  were  creeping  along  the  heavy  shoots 
which  are  stretched  from  trunk  to  trunk.  Already 
were  their  successive  avenues  of  garlands  swing- 
ing gracefully  above  the  glistening  wheat  beneath. 
Now  and  then  we  passed  a  farmhouse,  or  a  col- 
lection of  them,  built  like  most  Italian  buildings 
of  stone.  Some  were  quite  large,  stretching  on 
three  sides  about  the  farmyard,  filled  with  straw 
and  chickens,  with  doors  opening  thereupon. 
The  people  seemed  very  hearty  and  cheerful, 
singing  lustily  at  their  work ;  it  is  a  far  healthier 
life  than  that  led  by  the  miserable  inhabitants 
of  the  mediaeval  mountain  towns.  We  crossed 
a  number  of  streams,  small,  flowing  in  deep 
artificial  channels,  doubtless  cut  by  the  Romans 
in  the  first  place  to  drain  the  plain.  Reaching 
the  western  mountain  wall  at  last,  we  climbed 
slowly  by  many  windings  to  Montefalco,  obtain- 
ing ever-widening  views  of  the  valley.  I  saw 
Montefalco  ahead,  still  clinging  to  the  shelter 
of  its  ancient  battlements,  which  circle  gray  and 
crumbling  about  the  hilltop.  We  entered  by 
the  western  gate,  drove  circularly  to  the  south- 
ern gate,  and  out  again  to  a  separate  knoll  on 
the  south  crested  with  elms  and  cypresses,  where 
sat  the  mediaeval  monastery  and  church  of  San 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    121 

Fortunate.  Here  we  entered  first  a  most  charm- 
ing old  court,  or  cloisters,  some  of  the  columns  of 
which  were  taken  from  ancient  temples.  Facing 
it  is  the  church,  with  its  rough  bell-tower  rising 
picturesquely  behind.  A  pleasant  Franciscan 
monk  answered  my  summons  —  given  by  ring- 
ing a  large  bell  whose  rope  hung  without  the 
door  —  and  showed  me  the  frescoes  in  the  church 
and  in  an  exterior  chapel  opening  on  the  court. 
They  were  painted  by  Tiberio  d'  Assisi  and 
Benozzo  Gozzoli,  those  two  quattrocentists  who, 
we  know,  often  did  such  wondrous  and  beautiful 
work,  but  which  is  seldom  to  be  found  nowadays 
—  so  much  of  it  having  been  lost.  Montef alco 
is  one  of  the  few  places  where  their  work  is  pre- 
served, and  is  mostly  visited  on  that  account. 

In  the  church  I  saw  two  panels  by  Gozzoli,  — 
not  so  good  as  his  fresco  over  the  door  without, 
which  represented  seven  angels,  marvels  of  beauty 
in  form,  grace,  and  coloring.  In  the  chapel  were 
Tiberio's  frescoes,  poor  for  him,  except  the  fine 
figure  of  the  Heavenly  Father  on  the  ceiling, 
in  which  he  shows  much  power  and  dramatic 
suggestion. 

We  returned  to  the  town  and  put  up  at  a  little 
inn  near  the  western  gate,  for  luncheon ;  which 
I  managed  to  make  out  tolerably  well,  —  upon 
eggs  and  macaroni  and  the  brown  bread  of  the 
mountains ;  which  is  similar  to  the  bread  of  Etru- 
ria,  with  the  same  crust  like  a  board  and  interior 


122  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

like  rubber ;  yet  it  is  very  hearty,  and  one  can  be- 
come fond  of  it  in  time.  After  lunch  I  walked  up 
into  the  town,  climbing  street-stairs  between  walls 
like  those  of  Amelia,  —  of  heavy  unplastered 
stones,  blackened  and  seamed  by  time,  with  the 
mortar  long  since  crumbled  away  from  between 
them,  and  the  edges  and  corners  rounded.  But 
Montefalco  is  a  small  place  —  only  eleven  hun- 
dred inhabitants  to-day;  and  three  minutes  of 
mounting  and  turning  brought  me  to  the  piazza 
at  the  top.  It  seemed  curious  not  to  find  a  domed 
cathedral  at  the  summit.  But  here  was  a  wide, 
level  square,  with  an  arcaded  municipio  on  one 
side  and  stuccoed  houses  on  the  others.  Thence 
a  wider  street  descended  directly  to  the  northern 
gate ;  and  going  down  it  a  few  steps  I  found  on 
the  right  the  church  of  San  Francesco,  celebrated 
for  its  early  frescoes. 

Montefalco  was  an  insignificant  hill  town,  un- 
known to  history  till  the  Renaissance  came.  Her 
stones  show  that  she  sat  here  on  her  crag  in  pre- 
Roman  times ;  but  she  was  too  small  to  attract 
attention.  It  is  queer,  then,  that,  little  as  she  was, 
she  took  hold  of  the  Renaissance  with  such  zest 
as  to  produce  Francesco  Melanzio  and  several 
other  early  artists  of  merit,  and  attract  to  herself 
the  work  of  Tiberio,  Gozzoli,  and  even  Perugino 
and  Lo  Spagna.  This  work  is  practically  all  in 
the  church  of  San  Francesco,  which  I  found  has 
been  made  a  national  monument,  and  to  which 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    123 

have  been  transferred  the  paintings  formerly 
kept  in  the  municipio.  A  small  boy  who  had 
been  diligently  following  me  hallooed  through 
the  keyhole  of  the  church,  and  the  warden  event- 
ually let  me  in.  The  interior  was  very  quaint : 
a  high  nave,  with  no  chapels  on  the  left,  and  a 
single  low  aisle  on  the  right,  separated  from  the 
nave  by  pointed  arches;  the  walls  all  white- 
washed, but  practically  covered  to  a  height  of 
fifteen  feet  with  frescoes  and  canvases.  The  in- 
signia and  trappings  of  the  Church  had  all,  of 
course,  been  removed ;  and  it  seemed  a  remark- 
able combination  of  chapel  and  museum,  kaleido- 
scopic with  the  thousand  tints  of  the  paintings, 
and  glossed  over  with  the  ecclesiastical  light  of  a 
rose  window  in  the  choir. 

I  spent  a  couple  of  delightful  hours  amongst 
this  unique  collection  from  the  Umbrian  and  Flor- 
entine schools.  There  was  a  large  Madonna  and 
Saints  by  Tiberio  d'  Assisi,  admirably  disposed 
and  drawn,  with  fine  flesh  coloring  and  expres- 
sion, showing  what  excellent  work  that  artist  could 
do,  —  yet  of  course  inferior  to  the  very  beauti- 
ful Annunciation  and  Nativity  by  Perugino,  next 
to  it,  which  it  was  an  exquisite  pleasure  to  observe, 
f  eeling  the  warm  atmosphere,  the  ideal  grace  and 
the  pensive  beauty.  There  were  a  great  many 
frescoes  of  Gozzoli's,  the  chief  in  the  choir,  illus- 
trating the  life  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  showing 
what  remarkable  work  was  done  by  artists  of  the 


124  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Florentine  school  before  Umbria  had  reached 
her  refulgence,  and  when  Siena  was  sunk  in 
lethargy.  Then  there  was  a  lovely  group  of 
saints  by  Lo  Spagna,  with  his  usual  deep,  soft 
flesh  coloring  and  golden  tone. 

On  leaving  the  church  I  proceeded  to  the 
northern  gate,  and  walked  thence  outside  the 
walls  to  the  southern  gate  by  a  modern  road  on 
the  east  side,  giving  wonderful  views  of  the 
Umbrian  plain  below.  The  light  was  not  too 
glaring  this  afternoon,  being  softened  and  dif- 
fused over  the  plain  by  masses  of  clouds.  Dense 
shadows  piled  about  the  mountain  peaks  beyond, 
and  lay  here  and  there  in  the  valley ;  and  be- 
tween them  fell  bright  pillars  of  sunshine,  illum- 
inating the  softly  green  fields  so  far  below, 
checkered  white  with  farms  and  churches  and 
tiny  villages,  and  glistening  upon  the  walls  and 
domes  of  Foligno.  The  shadows  over  the  mount- 
ains were  parted  for  a  moment  by  a  shaft  of  light 
that  leaped  fairly  upon  the  high  gray  cone  of 
Trevi,  causing  the  pyramidal  mass  of  houses  to 
gleam  radiantly  against  the  darkness  behind,  as 
if  by  the  touch  of  a  fairy's  wand.  Ah,  this 
beautiful,  beautiful  plain  of  Umbria  !  No  one 
who  has  looked  upon  it  from  its  mountain  tops 
can  ever  forget  its  soft  luxuriant  loveliness,  its 
embattled  cities  watching  from  their  crags,  and 
its  smiles  under  the  play  of  the  shadows  that 
sport  upon  its  surface. 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    125 

It  sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  rain  as  we  drove 
down  from  Montefalco  to  Bevagna,  northward  on 
the  edge  of  the  hills.  But  one  gets  accustomed 
to  this  in  the  Umbrian  springtime,  when  the 
abundant  rainfall  necessary  to  its  luxuriant  ver- 
dure brings  showers  almost  every  day.  The  sun- 
shine is  always  sweeter  and  more  dazzling  than 
ever  when  it  bursts  down  again  from  the  parted 
clouds,  and  shows  glistening  drops  upon  every 
swinging  garland  of  grape  leaves.  After  a  drive 
of  some  four  miles  we  entered  Bevagna  from  its 
western,  or  mountain  gate,  set  high  in  brick  walls 
like  those  of  Foligno.  The  little  town,  also,  is 
built  of  brick,  and  has  still  another  similarity  to 
Foligno  in  being  rectangular.  It  was  likewise 
kid  out  upon  the  plain  by  the  Komans,  and  I 
believe  was  in  their  time  greater  than  Foligno.  A 
few  steps  from  the  gate,  with  vistas  down  straight, 
dirty  side-lanes  of  crumbling  brick  dwellings, 
brought  us  to  the  little  piazza,  where  stood  two 
large  Romanesque  churches  facing  each  other, 
—  San  Silvestro  and  San  Michele.  Their  quaint 
f agades,  from  the  twelfth  century,  were  inset  with 
little  loggias  and  with  crude  carvings  of  pat- 
terns and  beasts.  Entering  the  latter,  I  found 
that  it  has  been  completely  restored  in  modern 
times  and  now  serves  as  the  Duomo.  A  sensation 
of  newness  pervades  the  curious  yellow  arches  of 
the  nave,  and  there  is  nothing  in  it  to  attract 
the  attention.  San  Silvestro  is  different.  It  has 


126  HILL  TOWNS  OP  ITALY 

been  dismantled,  instead  of  being  repaired  to  serve 
as  a  "  monimento  nazionale,"  and  I  picked  my 
way  over  fallen  stones  and  rubbish  to  examine 
its  heavy  old  Romanesque  columns  with  their 
large-leaved  capitals.  Here  all  was  gloom  and  an- 
tiquity. The  choir  followed  a  very  early  Chris- 
tian form  in  being  raised  to  some  height  above 
the  nave,  so  that  the  high  altar  was  approached 
by  steps.  Under  the  choir  was  a  crypt  of  some 
size,  with  the  same  ponderous  columns.  No  win- 
dows pierced  the  walls  of  the  aisles,  and  the  only 
light  filtered  in  through  a  round  window  in  the 
apse.  This  window  was  very  handsome,  so  much 
so  that  it  must  have  been  inserted  later ;  to  view 
it  from  outside,  I  walked  back  around  the  church 
to  a  piazza  in  the  rear,  where  there  was  a  charm- 
ing vista  of  the  crumbling  apse  with  its  carved 
opening,  and  adjacent,  a  high  wall  of  medisBval 
times  set  with  graceful  trefoil  windows. 

From  the  central  piazza  between  the  churches 
runs  the  main  street  directly  to  the  southern  gate. 
At  the  first  step  down  this  I  caught  through  an 
open  door  on  the  right  a  glimpse  of  arcades,  and 
traversing  the  passage  found  myself  in  an  old 
monastery  court,  two-storied,  evidently  now  given 
over  to  common  uses,  but  still  full  of  grace.  I 
kept  on  down  the  street,  between  its  little  shops 
in  plastered  fagades,  and  dark,  dirty  lanes  lead- 
ing off  to  right  and  left,  so  curiously  straight. 
It  showered  again,  and  the  way  was  soon  fuU  of 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    127 

green  umbrellas,  enormous  ones,  such  as  the  Um- 
brian  peasants  nearly  always  use.  They  bobbed 
this  way  and  that  down  the  long,  narrow  thorough- 
fare like  a  procession  of  green  balloons.  Some 
boys  showed  me  a  house  in  the  basement  of 
which  remains  of  a  Roman  amphitheatre  have 
been  discovered,  but  the  owner  or  custodian  was 
not  at  home  and  could  not  be  found.  I  consoled 
myself  with  the  remark  of  a  bystander  that  the 
remains  were  insignificant.  Some  one  then  asked 
if  I  should  like  to  see  the  Roman  mosaics  recently 
found,  and  upon  receiving  an  affirmative  led  me 
to  a  house  in  a  side  way  near  the  eastern  gate. 
Here  an  old  woman  left  her  work  to  get  a  key, 
and  with  it  unlocked  a  door  from  the  street  into 
the  basement.  The  cellar  floor,  to  my  amaze- 
ment, was  all  of  stone  mosaic,  —  and  the  most 
remarkable  mosaic  that  I  have  ever  seen,  com- 
posed of  large  figures  of  animals  in  black  upon 
a  white  background.  It  was  clearly  Roman  work, 
but  of  a  genius  surpassing  any  Roman  work  of 
that  nature  elsewhere  found.  The  material  used 
was  simply  white  and  black  cubes  of  stotife  about 
half  an  inch  square ;  but  with  this  were  formed 
a  fish,  a  lobster,  a  sea-horse,  and  a  centaur,  each 
from  four  to  six  feet  in  length,  and  of  marvelous 
execution.  They  positively  moved  and  writhed  and 
snorted  under  the  very  eye.  The  details  and  pro- 
portions of  the  anatomy  were  perfection,  and 
every  line  expressed  muscular  action. 


128  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

In  my  astonishment  I  questioned  the  old  woman 
as  to  why  such  a  find  were  not  better  known, 
and  learned  that  it  was  discovered  but  three 
years  ago,  at  a  depth  of  several  feet  beneath  her 
former  cellar  floor;  also  that  her  neighbors  had 
since,  within  a  radius  of  a  hundred  yards,  dug 
into  their  cellar  bottoms  and  all  found  the  same 
mosaic  pavement,  showing  that  it  was  of  great 
extent.  She  said  that  the  town  authorities  had 
concluded  that  it  was  the  pavement  of  some  vast 
Roman  baths ;  which  is  probably  correct.  This 
is  sufficient  to  indicate  what  must  have  been  the 
size  and  wealth  of  Bevagna  in  Roman  days, — 
now  shrunk  to  a  village  of  eighteen  hundred  in- 
habitants. 

For  another  thing  beside  this  mosaic  Bevagna 
must  be  given  a  red  mark,  a  thing  in  which  it  is 
different  from  every  other  town  in  Italy  :  its 
people  refuse  fees.  This  will  not  be  credible  to 
any  traveler  ;  but  one  and  all  refused  my  prof- 
fers with  a  polite  "  Oh,  no ;  it  is  nothing."  Even 
the  old  lady  of  the  mosaics,  and  the  boys  who 
conducted  me  about  town,  would  take  nothing. 
I  will  admit  that  it  is  incomprehensible. 

We  left  the  little  town  by  an  archway  beside 
a  vast  tower  in  the  city  wall,  —  a  picturesque, 
battlemented  tower,  huge  enough  for  ten  Be- 
vagnas,  —  and  followed  a  straight  road  eastward 
over  the  plain  to  Foligno,  between  high,  rich 
green  hedges.  The  sun  was  setting  gloriously 


TREVI,  FOLIGNO,  MONTEFALCO,  BEVAGNA    129 

behind  the  western  mountains.  Its  golden  rays 
streamed  hazily  over  the  valley,  and  struck  glit- 
tering upon  the  piled-up  walls  and  towers  of 
Spello  before  us.  She  lifted  herself  upon  her 
mountain  top  and  radiated  back  the  effulgence 
upon  the  domes  of  Foligno  below.  She  crested 
her  peak  like  a  golden  crown,  and  her  circling 
towers  were  the  points  of  it,  holding  aloft  bright 
tops  which  scintillated  like  jewels;  till  at  last 
the  dark  shadow  creeping  up  the  hills  from  the 
valley  swallowed  walls,  pinnacles,  and  all. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SPELLO   AND   ASSIST 

IT  is  but  three  miles  from  Foligno  to  the  southern 
gate  of  Spello,  too  short  a  journey  to  take  by 
rail,  and  too  lovely  a  drive  to  be  missed.  So  I 
took  the  drive,  and  continued  it  to  Assisi.  Leav- 
ing the  northern  gate  of  Foligno,  we  followed  a 
broad  white  road  between  the  endless  vineyards 
and  orchards,  as  level  and  straight  as  a  Roman 
way.  In  fact  it  is  a  Roman  way,  —  the  same  road 
which  the  ancients  constructed;  probably  the 
substructure  is  the  original  deep  Roman  con- 
crete. Directly  ahead  at  the  end  of  the  long, 
tree-lined  avenue  rose  the  huge  town  gate  of 
Spello ;  and  above  it  soared  the  mass  of  houses, 
f agade  over  fagade,  climbing  the  steep  hillside  to 
a  far  height,  and  culminating  in  a  huge  pink 
building  like  a  Renaissance  palace.  But  the  fea- 
ture of  it  was  the  towers,  —  square  and  lofty, 
pointed  or  battlemented,  bare  or  windowed,  gray 
with  age  or  pink  with  newness,  —  which  rose 
from  the  mass  of  houses  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, each  looking  over  the  head  of  the  one 
below  as  they  mounted  the  ascent  in  tiers.  They 


SPELLO   AND  ASSIST  131 

gave  Spello  quite  a  different  aspect  from  Trevi 
—  a  more  animated,  martial  one.  The  town 
looked  far  more  important  than  it  is  ;  for  Spello 
is  but  a  relic  of  a  Roman  municipium,  unimport- 
ant since  the  Middle  Ages,  and  reported  uninter- 
esting save  for  the  celebrated  frescoes  of  Pintu- 
ricchio.  I  recalled,  as  we  rolled  along  toward  it, 
that  it  was  an  ancient  Umbrian  fortress,  given  a 
Roman  colony  by  Augustus,  and  a  subsequent 
one  by  Vespasian.  In  prosperous  imperial  times 
it  crawled  out  of  its  old  walls  and  down  the  hill- 
side to  the  plain,  and  became  wealthy  enough  to 
afford  a  good  sized  amphitheatre.  But  modern 
times  have  crushed  it,  and  it  can  muster  to-day 
but  twenty-five  hundred  inhabitants. 

Modern  improvements  do  not  seem  to  have 
struck  Spello  at  all  —  it  is  too  near  Foligno  to 
have  any  importance  of  its  own.  When  we  reached 
the  gate  I  learned  from  my  driver  that  the  only 
inns  lay  there  outside  of  it,  —  two  miserable-look- 
ing locande,  with  stables  on  the  ground  floor  and 
eating-rooms  above.  Looking  through  the  gate- 
way and  up  the  street  which  mounted  through 
the  town,  I  saw  the  reason  for  the  inns  —  such 
as  they  were  —  being  outside  the  walls.  The  street 
was  too  steep  for  the  ordinary  vehicle  to  climb. 
I  dismounted,  and  made  out  a  lunch  as  best  I 
could  over  one  of  the  stables,  gazing  out  upon  the 
huge  gateway  opposite,  which  is  the  chief  sight 
(next  to  the  frescoes)  of  Spello.  For  it  is  a  real, 


132  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

intact  Roman  city  gate,  of  massive  construction, 
rising  far  above  the  single  entrance  like  a  tri- 
umphal arch;  and  upon  the  fagade  are  three 
original  Roman  statues,  perched  on  slabs  project- 
ing from  the  wall.  I  wondered  how  they  could 
ever  have  remained  there  during  the  onslaughts 
of  mediaeval  times.  To  the  right  is  an  interest- 
ing inscription,  —  "  Colonia  Julia  Hispelli,"  show- 
ing the  derivation  of  the  modern  name. 

As  I  was  watching,  several  loads  of  fire-wood 
came  along,  each  on  a  two-wheeled  cart  drawn  by 
a  donkey  or  a  broken-down  horse.  They  un- 
hitched before  the  gate  and  made  shift  to  get  up 
the  steep  hill  inside  by  putting  all  the  animals  to 
one  load  at  a  time,  —  long  ears  and  short  ears 
bobbing  up  and  down  together,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  tremendous  shouting  and  laying  on  of 
whips.  The  Italian  loves  nothing  so  much  as  an 
opportunity  to  use  his  lung  power  or  to  wield  a 
whip.  But  this  method  of  hauling  wood  was 
superior  to  what  I  had  seen  everywhere  else  in 
Umbria  and  in  Etruria,  —  the  carrying  of  two 
bundles  at  a  time  slung  across  a  donkey's  back ; 
which  is  probably  the  most  familiar  road  scene 
outside  of  the  large  cities.  The  wood  is  uniformly 
green  branches  cut  from  growing  trees  —  the 
trees  themselves  are  preserved  to  grow  a  crop  each 
year  just  as  if  it  were  fruit.  In  fact  it  is  more 
valuable  than  fruit.  Italy  has  no  coal,  except 
some  found  in  the  north,  which  is  so  poor  as  to 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  133 

be  almost  worthless ;  and  even  this  is  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  peasantry.  There  is  no  original 
growth  of  timber  to  fell  for  fuel,  and  the  branches 
that  the  trees  on  the  mountain  sides  put  forth 
each  year  are  the  only  resource.  It  is  not  for 
heating  purposes  that  the  peasants  are  constantly 
hauling  the  wood,  but  for  cooking  use ;  and  it 
burns  up  very  rapidly.  In  the  fall  they  lay  in  as 
much  of  a  stock  as  they  can  afford  for  warmth 
during  the  winter. 

Finishing  my  homely  lunch,  with  the  aid  of 
two  dogs  who  sat  one  on  each  side,  I  started  up 
the  main  street  of  Spello.  Here  again  I  noticed 
the  same  brick-work  as  at  Foligno,  probably 
from  the  same  clay  beds.  Some  of  the  fagades, 
particularly  on  the  main  street,  were  plastered.  The 
side  streets  darted  up  or  down  into  semi-obscurity, 
plunging  through  archways  and  tunnels;  they 
were  but  a  few  feet  in  width,  built  up  and  over 
with  decaying  masonry  —  either  of  bricks  or  of 
a  heterogeneous  assortment  of  bricks  and  cut 
stone  and  cobble-stone.  Here  and  there  I  saw  a 
few  traces  of  early  Roman  work,  in  the  substruct- 
ure of  houses.  Of  renaissance  work  there  were 
not  as  many  remains  as  at  Trevi, —  only  occa- 
sionally a  simple  fagade  with  details  of  that 
period.  The  street  mounted  directly  upward 
through  the  heart  of  the  town,  to  the  usual  piazza 
half  way  to  the  top.  Before  reaching  this  I 
passed  a  good-sized  church  on  the  right,  and  on 


134  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

inquiry  found  that  it  was  S.  Maria  Maggiore; 
this,  then,  was  the  place  of  Pinturicchio's  great 
frescoes.  I  entered,  and  saw  that  the  edifice  was, 
as  usual,  being  made  over  into  a  "monimento 
nazionale."  Doubtless  this  is  excellent  for  the 
preservation  of  the  paintings  in  time  to  come; 
but  the  removal  of  the  ecclesiastical  furniture 
and  the  extensive  reparations  destroy  the  appro- 
priate historical  surroundings.  It  seemed  to  me 
like  taking  away  the  frame  from  the  picture. 

It  is  queer  that  Spello  ever  had  money  enough 
or  spirit  enough  to  draw  Pinturicchio  to  it,  in  its 
subsidence  to  desuetude  after  the  end  of  the  dark 
ages;  but  come  he  did,  in  1501,  and  filled  the 
Baglioni  chapel  of  S.  Maria  Maggiore  with  fres- 
coes which  are  among  the  best  from  his  brush. 
The  light,  unfortunately,  is  so  poor  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  observe  them.  It  was  made  worse  at  my 
visit  by  the  placing  of  two  large  confessional 
boxes  in  the  chapel,  at  its  entrance.  After  some 
time,  however,  I  could  make  out  the  Annuncia- 
tion, the  Adoration,  and  Christ  in  the  Temple,  on 
the  three  walls,  and  four  Sibyls  on  the  vaulting. 
The  composition  of  the  three  large  tableaux  is 
in  the  set  forms  of  the  early  quattrocentists,  save 
that  the  Christ  in  the  Temple  is  more  freed  from 
tradition.  This  is  a  magnificent  work :  before 
the  arches  and  steps  of  the  temple  as  a  back- 
ground —  placed  in  good  perspective  and  atmo- 
sphere —  is  gathered  the  large  crowd  of  wise  men 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  136 

and  onlookers  in  excellent  attitudes  of  interest 
and  attention,  with  their  glances  focused  upon 
the  youthful  figure  of  Christ  in  the  centre.  And 
this  figure,  very  gracefully  drawn  and  posed,  is 
positively  aglow  with  radiant  beauty,  which  seems 
diffused  not  only  from  the  beautiful,  speaking  face 
but  from  the  whole  person.  It  was  difficult  to 
look  at  anything  else  in  the  chapel.  And  after 
scrutinizing  the  less  interesting  work  of  the  other 
panels  and  the  ceiling,  I  preferred  to  gaze  at  this 
as  the  masterpiece,  and  come  away  with  it  fixed 
in  my  mind.  One  distinct,  beautiful  impression  is 
worth  a  hundred  confused  ones. 

Before  leaving  the  church  I  entered  the  sac- 
risty; and  there  found  in  a  frame  above  the 
altar  a  most  lovely  Madonna,  on  canvas,  —  one 
of  those  golden  studies  of  gentle  pensive  beauty 
which  are  the  chefs  d'ceuvre  of  the  Umbrian 
school,  and  which  fill  the  observer  with  deepest 
delight.  This  Madonna  is  distinguished  by  a 
silver  star  upon  her  cloak,  and  hence  appropri- 
ately called  the  "  Madonna  della  Stella."  The 
painter  is  unknown.  It  is  evidently  a  work  of 
about  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
ascribed  most  often  to  Pinturicchio,  but  more 
probably  by  Lo  Spagna,  on  account  of  the  won- 
derful tones  of  the  flesh. 

From  the  church  I  mounted  the  main  street 
to  the  Piazza,,  and  observed  there  with  weariness 
a  new  municipal  building  on  the  upper  east  side, 


136  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

holding  aloft  a  pink  machicolated  tower  to  look 
over  the  plain.  In  the  church  of  S.  Andrea,  just 
above  this,  is  another  work  of  Pinturicchio's,  a 
Madonna  and  Saints,  —  very  graceful,  but  not 
as  interesting  as  the  frescoes  in  S.  Maria.  I 
continued  upward  until  the  street  ended  at  a 
large  Roman  archway  of  the  republican  period, 
which  rose  between  the  houses  in  dark,  ponder- 
ous majesty ;  it  must  have  been  erected  as  a 
monument.  To  the  right  of  it  branched  off  a 
street  along  the  southern  slope  of  the  hill,  quite 
level  itself,  but  with  byways  which  pitched  into 
it  precipitously  on  the  left  hand  and  jumped  off 
as  suddenly  on  the  right.  I  followed  it  for 
some  distance,  to  catch  the  pretty  glimpses  of 
the  green  valley  below,  down  these  dark  in- 
clines ;  and  at  the  end  looked  off  across  a  ravine 
to  a  church  upon  an  opposite  knoll  picturesquely 
esconced  behind  a  row  of  cypresses,  —  the  white 
walls  and  dome  peeping  through  their  black 
spear-points.  Then  returning  to  the  Roman 
arch  I  took  the  street  through  it,  which  was 
invitingly  labeled  "Via  del  Torre  della  Bella 
Vista."  It  led  me  darkly  and  narrowly  up  the 
hill,  winding  in  steps  between  mediaeval  brick 
buildings  with  small  barred  windows,  through 
groups  of  women  knitting  and  sewing  in  the 
street,  and  more  animated  groups  of  children 
who  tumbled  about  my  knees  in  play.  At  last 
I  emerged  upon  the  level  top  of  the  mountain, 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  137 

before  the  high  walls  of  the  square  building 
which  I  had  observed  from  the  plain.  To  my 
disappointment  it  proved  to  be  nothing  but  a 
simple  private  villa,  of  modern  construction.  But 
the  road  kept  on  around  it  to  an  open  piazza  on 
the  north  side,  where  in  an  instant  I  found  my- 
self on  the  parapeted  edge  of  a  breathless  preci- 
pice, gazing  off  to  the  whole  extent  of  the 
Umbrian  plain  and  mountains.  There  fell  the 
house-tops  of  Spello  sheer  below  me,  and  there 
swept  the  rich  valley  to  north  and  south  —  ver- 
dure-clad between  its  walls  of  verdure.  There 
sat  Assisi,  now  near  at  hand,  strung  along  upon 
the  south  side  of  its  mountain  in  a  glistening 
oval  pile  of  houses  and  churches,  tower  after 
tower  rising  beautifully  from  the  mass.  And 
there  at  last  was  Perugia,  —  Perugia  the  capital 
of  Umbria,  the  goal  of  the  traveler,  —  lying 
upon  its  peak  to  the  northwest  where  the  Tiber 
empties  its  waters  upon  the  plain,  looking  royally 
out  over  the  vales  and  mountains  which  it 
subdued  in  times  of  old,  and  which  it  com- 
mands to-day.  Royal  indeed  it  appeared,  stretch- 
ing extensively  over  its  vast  hill-top,  with  build- 
ings and  towers  silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky 
beyond. 

Bringing  the  eye  back  down  the  valley  it  fell 
upon  a  large  mound  rising  from  its  level  below 
Assisi,  —  a  mound  like  a  round  gray  hill  of  bare 
rock,  but  which  closer  inspection  showed  to  be 


138  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

a  building  surmounted  by  a  gigantic  dome. 
This  dome  appeared  of  incredible  size ;  it  dom- 
inated the  plain  as  St.  Peter's  does  the  Campagna. 
I  knew  it  could  be  no  other  than  the  great  pil- 
grimage church  of  S.  Maria  degli  Angeli,  built 
over  the  little  hut  where  the  disciples  of  St. 
Francis  of  Assisi  first  collected  about  him. 

Nearer  still,  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  hill 
on  which  I  stood,  lay  the  ruins  of  the  amphi- 
theatre of  Spello,  —  an  oval  ring  of  earth  raised 
slightly  from  the  plain,  from  which  protruded 
the  remnants  of  stone  piers  and  arches.  Turn- 
ing about  to  descend,  I  saw  the  "  Tower  of  the 
Beautiful  View"  behind  me,  the  grim  square 
relic  of  a  mediaeval  castle  which  once  topped  this 
eminence ;  and  beside  it  was  another  old  Roman 
arch,  demolished  save  for  a  single  course  of 
heavy  stones,  which  hung  suspended  above  a 
street  running  down  to  an  outskirt  of  Spello  on 
the  northern  side  of  the  hill.  A  man  beside  me 
said  impressively  that  the  arch  was  built  by 
Augustus ;  but  Augustus  or  not,  it  was  very 
fine  early  Roman  work. 

I  retraced  my  footsteps  through  many  wind- 
ings to  the  valley  again ;  and  we  proceeded 
northward,  following  closely  now  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  wall.  A  charming  villa  was  passed, 
rising  from  heavy  gates  in  terraces  to  a  cypress- 
lined  promenade  on  the  hillside.  Beyond,  the 
olive  groves  swept  continuously  upward,  follow- 


SPELLO   AND   ASSISI  139 

ing  the  gentle  sinuosities  of  the  slopes ;  and  we 
drove  between  them  on  the  right  and  vineyards 
on  the  left,  until  a  branch  road  took  us  across 
the  plain  again  towards  S.  Maria  degli  Angeli. 
Its  tremendous  dome  looming  ever  higher  as  we 
approached,  was  a  most  forcible  reminder  to  me 
of  the  marvelous  life  of  St.  Francis,  and  the 
change  which  it  wrought  in  the  world.  Before 
his  coming  the  religion  of  Christ  had  become  a 
close  profession,  to  enter  which  the  abandon- 
ment of  all  human  affections  was  necessary,  and 
which  confined  its  practice  to  dogmatic  discus- 
sion. The  great  mass  of  the  population,  the 
poor  people,  had  no  share  in  it,  beyond  witness- 
ing occasionally  a  mystic  ceremony  which  they 
could  not  comprehend.  The  cardinal  teachings 
of  Christ  that  constitute  really  the  whole  of  his 
religion  —  love,  and  the  brotherhood  of  man  — 
were  forgotten  by  the  scholars  who  split  hairs 
in  monasteries  and  the  ministrants  who  swung 
censers  before  Madonnas  like  Byzantine  em- 
presses. The  pith  of  Christianity  was  gone. 
Naught  remained  but  an  empty  gaudy  shell, 
which  a  few  men  gilded  with  set  lines.  And  it 
too  would  have  perished  had  not  such  a  man  as 
St.  Francis  appeared  to  extricate  from  the  dried 
abstract  the  truths  of  Christ.  He  preached  once 
more  to  the  world  what  Jesus  preached  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  and  what  the  world  had  for- 
gotten :  love,  charity,  faith,  and  hope.  He  re- 


140  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

kindled  the  expiring  flame  of  our  religion.  He 
brought  it  to  the  masses,  and  into  their  lives. 
He  taught  men  that  Christianity  is  not  the  de- 
monstration by  a  few  minds  of  dogmatic  princi- 
ples, nor  the  celebration  of  elaborate  ceremonies 
by  vested  priests,  but  is  the  inculcation  into  their 
daily  lives  of  the  simple  truths  of  Christ.  He 
brought  the  divine  light,  and  the  divine  hope, 
once  more  to  the  soul  of  humanity.  He  replaced 
the  affections  of  the  family  —  so  long  banished 
from  religion  —  in  their  natural,  innocent  sphere ; 
and  beatified  the  love  of  maternity  and  fraternity. 
How  much,  then,  does  not  all  the  world  to-day 
—  including  every  one  of  us  —  owe  to  St.  Francis 
of  Assisi!  Protestant  has  the  debt  as  well  as 
Catholic.  From  his  little  emaciated  body  flowed 
the  freedom  from  set  creeds  and  ceremonies,  as 
well  as  the  idea  of  living  the  divine  life  and  not 
painting  it  in  mosaics  —  which  we  have  to-day. 
And  from  what  a  small  seed  the  truth  eternal 
grew  again !  St.  Francis  was  a  boy  on  those  streets 
of  Assisi  which  I  saw  above  me  on  the  hillside, 
the  child  of  simple  parents,  born  in  1182.  And 
as  a  youth  he  was  careless  and  gay  as  any,  and 
went  into  the  war  soon  after  waged  with  Perugia. 
There,  however,  he  suffered  many  ills  from  priva- 
tion and  sickness,  adversities  which  turned  his 
thoughts  to  the  sufferings  of  all  the  rest  of  men 
at  that  time.  He  realized  the  coldness,  the  fero- 
city, and  the  utter  selfishness  of  humanity  in  those 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  141 

fierce  mediaeval  days,  —  and  saw  that  no  one 
practiced  Christ's  teachings,  nor  even  grasped 
them.  The  world  was  as  pagan  as  in  the  times  of 
Babylon,  and  far  less  refined.  Only  this  explains 
the  life  of  the  Middle  Ages,  —  the  warring,  mur- 
dering, slaughtering,  torturing,  of  man  upon 
man,  incessant,  fratricidal,  —  when  delicate  ladies 
ate  their  dinners  over  the  groans  from  racks  in 
dungeons  below  without  a  shudder.  In  1208  St. 
Francis  gathered  his  first  seven  disciples  about 
him  in  the  little  hut  in  the  plain  below  Assisi, 
calling  them  Fratres  Minores  (little  brothers)  and 
teaching  them  to  practice  the  life  of  Christ,  and 
to  take  "  neither  gold  nor  silver,  nor  money  in 
their  purses,  nor  shoes,  nor  staff."  And  from  here 
he  sent  them  forth  to  "proclaim  peace  to  men, 
and  preach  repentance  for  the  remission  of  sins." 
The  Porziuncula,  as  the  hut  is  called,  remained 
of  course  the  great  shrine  of  Franciscans  after 
the  death  of  their  founder  in  1228 ;  but  it  was 
not  till  1569  that  the  present  edifice  was  begun, 
under  the  plans  of  Vignola,  and  was  constructed 
to  inclose  the  Porziuncula.  I  approached  it  with 
a  vast  curiosity,  and  with  reverence,  I  will  admit, 
such  as  one  takes  to  a  holy  spot.  The  exterior  of 
the  church  is  plain,  in  simple  renaissance  lines, 
all  made  majestic  by  the  glorious  dome.  It  faces 
to  the  west,  across  a  bare  piazza  round  which  is 
gathered  the  village  of  the  same  name  as  the 
church.  When  I  entered  the  nave,  I  was  struck 


142  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

at  once  by  the  great  size  of  the  building.  It 
seemed  almost  as  large  as  St.  Peter's,  though  not 
as  long,  and  the  similarity  was  increased  by  the 
lofty  barrel  vaulting,  and  the  white  heavy  piers 
separating  the  nave  from  the  aisles.  No  sculp- 
tures enriched  the  walls,  and  none  were  needed ; 
for  there  below  the  dome  stood  the  Porziuncula 
in  marble  casing,  topped  by  graceful  statuary, 
and  blazing  with  the  tones  of  Overbeck's  famous 
fresco  on  the  fagade.  I  approached  to  examine 
this  painting,  which  took  the  place  in  1829  of  an 
earlier  one  by  Lo  Spagna  that  had  become  ef- 
faced ;  and  though  a  little  incongruous  at  first 
glance  in  these  old  surroundings,  it  nevertheless 
filled  me  with  pleasure.  There  is  no  reason  why 
a  modern  work  cannot  be  enjoyed  as  well  as  an 
ancient  one.  In  adaptation  to  the  space  allotted, 
in  composition,  in  general  and  individual  grace, 
and  in  harmony  of  splendid  coloring,  this  work 
has  few  equals  in  modern  frescoes. 

Above  it  soars  a  marble  canopy  inclosing  a 
sculptured  Madonna ;  and  below  opens  the  round 
arched  doorway  into  the  original  interior,  whose 
bare  stone  walls,  in  spite  of  the  elaborate  altar  and 
burning  lamps,  are  a  violent  contrast  to  the  rich 
fagade.  There  are  a  few  prayer-stools  on  each 
side ;  and  here,  when  I  entered,  some  peasants 
were  kneeling  in  silent  communion.  I  walked  to 
the  rear,  and  observed  that  few  traces  are  left 
of  the  Crucifixion  that  Perugino  painted  there.  In 


SPELLO   AND  ASSIST  143 

the  left  transept  is  a  very  good  altar-piece  by 
Andrea  della  Robbia ;  but  I  went  on  to  the  sacristy, 
opening  from  the  right  transept,  and  through 
it  to  the  little  garden  where  grow  St.  Francis' 
thornless  roses.  He  is  known  to  have  rolled  his 
bare  body  upon  rose  thorns  in  mortification  of  the 
flesh,  and  they  say  that  ever  since  then  the  thorns 
have  disappeared,  and  the  bushes  have  continued 
to  live  and  blossom  through  the  centuries.  I  saw 
through  the  grating  a  little  plot  of  earth  planted 
with  low  bushes,  upon  which  the  flowers  were 
just  commencing  to  bud;  and  there  were  no 
thorns  now,  at  any  rate.  Close  at  hand  is  a  chapel, 
built  by  St.  Buonaventura  over  the  cave  where 
St.  Francis  at  one  time  imprisoned  himself  in 
darkness.  On  the  walls  are  frescoes  by  Tiberio 
d'  Assisi,  injured  by  time,  and  not  as  good  as  his 
work  at  Montefalco  and  elsewhere.  The  choir  of 
the  chapel  is  raised,  allowing  one  to  look  beneath 
into  the  cave  of  St.  Francis,  —  a  small  compart- 
ment encased  in  gloom ;  and  this  gloom  seems  to 
pervade  the  choir  also,  obscuring  the  frescoes 
there  by  Lo  Spagna.  I  returned  to  the  church, 
enjoyed  once  more  the  view  down  the  lofty  nave, 
of  the  beautiful  Porziuncula  beneath  its  mighty 
dome,  and  started  for  Assisi. 

The  road  lay  east  across  several  miles  of  plain 
to  the  foot  of  Assisi's  mountain.  Over  the  end 
of  the  green  avenue  of  trees  soared  the  pink 
stones  of  the  city,  climbing  upward  to  the  south- 


144  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

east  from  its  great  rock  face  towards  the  valley. 
And  yet  this  huge  knob  was  not  a  rock ;  it  was 
actually  masonry,  rising  from  the  mountain  slope 
in  two  mighty  tiers  of  arches  like  work  of  the 
cyclops  and  surmounted  by  a  great  church  and 
tower.  This,  I  knew,  must  be  the  church  and 
monastery  of  St.  Francis,  —  the  stone  memorial 
of  his  life,  the  sepulchre  of  his  remains,  and  the 
Mecca  of  his  brotherhood  and  the  world  of  art :  — 
the  world  of  art  also,  because,  begun  at  St.  Fran- 
cis' death  in  1228  and  finished  in  1253,  it  was  then 
completely  decorated  with  frescoes  by  almost  the 
whole  school  of  trecentists,  and  Giotto  at  the  head 
of  the  list.  I  reflected,  as  we  climbed  the  hill  in 
long  curves,  that  St.  Francis  did  as  much  for  the 
beautiful  in  color  as  for  the  beautiful  in  living. 
At  his  birth  art  was  wedded  to  the  rites  of  what 
religion  there  was,  and  was  equally  dead.  It  had 
no  action,  nor  composition,  nor  realism,  nor  grace, 
nor  feeling,  and  never  revealed  a  truth  nor  told 
a  story.  It  was  petrified  in  diagonal  lines  on  a 
tinsel  background.  All  was  set,  —  as  it  had  been 
for  hundreds  of  years,  since  it  ran  into  those 
curious  moulds  from  the  live  crucible  of  Rome's 
halcyon  days.  The  subjects  were  set ;  the  com- 
position, the  attitudes,  the  figures,  the  gestures, 
the  expressions,  —  all  were  set.  There  was  only 
the  Christ,  and  Madonna,  and  Saints,  robed  ori- 
entally like  sovereigns,  and  seated  on  oriental 
thrones.  No  wonder  they  called  this  work  By- 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  145 

zantine.  All  human  feeling  and  affections  were 
banished  from  art  as  they  were  from  the  church, 
together  with  those  component  elements  of  Chris- 
tianity and  beauty  of  idea  —  love,  fraternity, 
humility.  St.  Francis  was  in  a  way  partly  respon- 
sible for  the  Renaissance  which  began  after  his 
lifetime  with  Cimabue,  Duccio,  and  Giotto,  in 
that  they  heard  and  shared  his  ideas  of  throwing 
off  the  ancient  shackles  and  considering  the  true 
and  natural  to  have  beauty.  What  St.  Francis  had 
preached,  they  took  up  and  began  to  paint.  He 
had  advocated  the  primitive  ideas  of  Christianity, 
and  they  set  them  forth  in  genuine  expression. 
Since  he  had  waked  the  church  to  the  true  divine 
life,  they  were  able  in  the  edifices  of  the  church 
to  topple  the  tinsel  gods  from  their  places  and 
supersede  them  with  expositions  of  faith,  hope, 
charity,  and  love.  The  Madonna,  as  the  incarna- 
tion of  maternal  love,  sorrow  and  sacrifice,  began 
to  mount  toward  her  present  pedestal.  Art  re- 
born longed  to  tell  the  story  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
and  the  saints.  And  when  this  great  church  was 
erected  as  St.  Francis'  sepulchre,  there  flocked 
to  it  the  artists  to  whom  his  teachings  must  have 
been  an  inspiration,  to  worship  at  his  shrine,  and 
lay  their  offerings  over  all  its  walls  in  living  lines 
of  beauty.  So  St.  Francis  in  his  death  did  as 
much  for  art  as  in  his  life,  by  leaving  this  temple 
where  for  years  it  gathered  the  masters  to  adorn 
and  fructify  and  advance,  without  the  old  fetters 
of  the  church  to  hold  them  back. 


146  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  gazed  at  the  church  upon  its  vast  substruc- 
ture of  arches,  to  which  we  were  very  near  now, 
thinking  with  emotion  that  within  its  four  walls 
was  gathered  the  work  of  the  great  originators 
of  the  Renaissance ;  that  there,  and  there  alone, 
could  they  be  seen  side  by  side,  showing  in  their 
juxtaposition  the  best  art  of  each  period,  and  its 
steady  advance  from  decade  to  decade,  and  from 
master  to  master.  Then  we  entered  a  great  gate 
in  the  town  wall  just  below  the  monastery,  and 
mounted  eastward  by  a  long  ascent  toward  the 
centre  of  the  city,  where  lay  the  albergo  that  I 
had  selected.  The  street  was  clean,  but  narrow 
and  steep ;  the  houses  were  old  and  heavy,  yet 
given  a  somewhat  light  appearance  by  the  un- 
usual pink  stone  of  which  the  whole  city  is  con- 
structed, and  which  causes  it  to  radiate  that  color 
to  a  long  distance  under  the  direct  rays  of  the 
sun.  This  stone  is  a  peculiarity  of  Assisi ;  I  have 
seen  it  nowhere  else.  It  is  of  exceptional  hardness 
and  durability,  not  worn  or  rounded  at  the  edges 
or  corners  by  the  elements,  though  the  mortar 
between  the  blocks  has  long  since  crumbled  away 
on  the  outside.  The  walls  have  a  curious  appear- 
ance, —  with  their  color  of  youth,  and  the  seem- 
ing newness  of  the  unworn  stones,  and  yet  their 
evident  great  age  from  the  gaping  seams  between. 
It  gives  a  little  the  impression  of  a  hale  old  man, 
with  white  hair  and  ruddy  cheeks. 

Assisi  is  a  place  of  such  manifold  interest  that 


THE   CHURCH   AN 


[ONASTERY  — ASSISI 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  147 

it  requires  some  time  to  be  seen  and  appreciated, 
and  I  settled  down  at  my  albergo  with  that  idea ; 
but  unusually  cold  weather  drove  me  away  sooner 
than  was  desirable.  The  first  walk  —  the  walk 
of  lasting  impressions  —  took  me  to  the  central 
piazza,  by  byways  which  wound  in  and  out,  and 
up  by  steps,  through  occasional  arches  under 
houses.  It  was  well  to  get  some  idea  of  the  town 
before  starting  in  to  study  S.  Francesco.  No 
place  could  be  more  unlevel.  There  did  not  seem 
to  be  a  level  space  in  it,  except  the  Piazza,  nor  a 
level  street,  except  the  main  one  at  different 
portions  of  its  length.  Assisi,  as  I  had  seen  from 
a  distance,  lies  stretched  along  the  side  of  its 
mountain,  with  a  huge  mediaeval  castle  far  above, 
whose  broken  walls  enfold  it  still  protectingly 
and  strive  to  run  down  the  flanks  of  the  hill  to 
inclose  the  city  as  of  old,  but  falter  and  tumble 
on  the  way.  At  the  western  end  lies  S.  Fran- 
cesco, at  the  eastern  S.  Chiara;  midway,  a 
little  nearer  the  latter  church,  is  the  Piazza,  of 
considerable  size.  The  main  street  connects  these 
landmarks,  running  (under  different  names)  quite 
straight  on  an  even  up-grade  almost  to  the  Piazza, 
then  jumping  upon  it  with  a  sudden  leap,  then 
slowly  downward  from  the  other  side  to  S. 
Chiara  and  the  eastern  gate.  Through  the  whole 
length  of  this  thoroughfare  the  byways  fall  into 
it  on  the  one  hand  and  fall  out  of  it  on  the 
other,  —  narrow,  dark  and  picturesque  as  ever, 


148  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

made  heavier  than  elsewhere  by  the  heavy  stones 
of  the  wall  and  the  more  frequent  tunnels.  When 
a  man  wished  for  more  room  in  mediaeval  times, 
he  had  no  lawn  in  which  to  extend  his  dwelling, 
nor  were  there  vacant  lots  inside  the  walls  on 
which  to  build ;  outside  the  walls  it  was  unsafe  ; 
so  he  had  to  bridge  over  the  street. 

When  I  first  emerged  upon  the  Piazza,  I  looked 
at  once  for  the  Roman  temple,  which  Goethe 
climbed  to  see,  and  so  admired  that  he  left  with- 
out visiting  S.  Francesco,  "  in  order  not  to  mar 
the  impression  by  any  Christian  associations." 
I  saw  the  fair,  wide  space  of  the  Piazza,  surrounded 
by  stone  and  plastered  fagades  of  even  height, 
and  on  the  north  side  six  beautiful  fluted  col- 
umns with  composite  capitals,  resting  on  a  base- 
ment approached  by  inclosing  steps,  and  uphold- 
ing a  simple,  graceful  pediment.  Probably  in 
Roman  days  there  were  sculptures  in  the  pedi- 
ment; but  it  is  all  very  lovely  without  adornment, 
in  its  perfect  proportions  and  harmony  of  lines. 
The  columns  I  found  on  closer  inspection  to  be 
monoliths,  except  the  bases.  The  temple  is  very 
useful  also,  to  remind  one  that  Assisi  is  not  sim- 
ply the  sepulchre  of  St.  Francis,  but  that  she  lived 
and  had  importance  fifteen  hundred  years  before 
he  was  born ;  that  she  was  a  large  and  wealthy 
Roman  colony;  and  that  in  the  dark  ages  she 
continued  strong  enough  to  save  her  edifices  from 
destruction.  The  old  city  has  dwindled  to-day  to 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  149 

five  thousand  inhabitants,  and  there  is  plenty 
of  grass-grown  space  within  the  once  close-con- 
fining walls.  It  is  too  long  a  pull  for  modern 
prosperity  from  the  railroad  station  to  her  distant 
height ;  she  is  wretchedly  poor,  has  little  to  live 
upon  except  the  visitors,  and  her  whole  popula- 
tion seem  to  have  turned  beggars. 

I  walked  from  the  Piazza  down  the  Corso  to 
S.  Chiara,  which  I  found  standing  proudly  behind 
a  piazza  of  its  own,  in  bright  colors  of  red  and 
white,  with  extraordinary  flying  buttresses  on  the 
north.  The  colors  were  from  alternate  courses  of 
stones ;  the  buttresses  leaped  from  the  side-wall  in 
successive  quarter-circles  to  piers  nearly  as  high 
as  the  nave,  —  a  thing  quite  exceptional  in  Italy. 
But  here  gothic  ideas  were  adopted  only  piece- 
meal, and  applied  now  and  then  in  often  random 
detail.  There  is  a  handsome  rose-window  also  in 
the  facade  of  this  church ;  and  as  I  stood  looking 
at  it,  the  memory  of  the  beautiful  life  of  S. 
Chiara  came  to  mind  :  she  who,  as  a  young  maid, 
so  admired  and  loved  the  work  and  teachings  of 
St.  Francis,  that  she  escaped  from  her  parents' 
house  in  the  night  and  ran  to  him ;  who  cut  off 
her  fair  tresses,  donned  the  garment  of  a  nun, 
and  devoted  herself  to  the  same  labor,  founding 
the  order  of  Clarissines.  We  think  of  her  as 
weeping  over  the  body  of  St.  Francis  when  he 
had  breathed  his  last,  and  vowing  to  continue 
unbrokenly  what  he  had  begun.  And  this  fine 


150  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

church  is  her  tomb.  In  the  very  centre  of  the 
nave,  as  though  to  indicate  that  it  is  a  memorial 
simply,  a  wide  flight  of  steps  leads  to  a  crypt 
built  of  colored  marble,  where  the  remains  are 
preserved. 

Halfway  between  the  Piazza  and  S.  Chiara,  on 
the  hill  above  the  Corso,  lies  the  Duomo,  with 
its  handsome  romaiiesque  fagade  of  the  twelfth 
century  turned,  like  S.  Chiara,  to  the  west.  I 
visited  it  on  another  day.  The  three  portals  are  un- 
usually graceful  for  the  period,  their  rounded 
frames  cut  in  pleasing  patterns;  above  runs  a 
light  gallery  the  whole  width  of  the  church, 
topped  by  three  beautiful  rose-windows.  The 
great  number  of  these  windows,  all  exquisitely 
done,  in  the  early  Umbrian  churches,  is  astonish- 
ing. Beside  the  edifice  is  a  very  large  and  well 
proportioned  campanile,  which,  with  the  dome, 
dominates  the  upper  town  from  every  point  of 
view.  In  front  is  a  little  piazza  with  a  bronze 
copy  of  Giovanni  Dupre's  famous  statue  of  St. 
Francis ;  the  marble  original  is  now  in  the 
cathedral,  where  I  saw  it,  full  of  remarkable 
grace  of  pathos  and  humility.  The  dim  interior 
contains  another  gem  of  art:  an  altar-piece  of 
Madonna  and  saints  by  Niccolo  da  Foligno,  —  one 
of  his  best  works.  Nothing  better  illustrates  than 
this  the  development  of  the  Umbrian  school, 
and  painting  generally,  between  Giotto  and  Peru- 
gino ;  it  is  a  work  worthy  of  the  latter  artist. 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  151 

All  is  beautiful  in  it  —  the   composition,  tone, 
attitudes,  drapery,  flesh,  and  coloring. 

The  first  visit  to  S.  Francesco  is  something 
never  to  he  forgotten.  I  approached  it  in  a  bright 
morning  light,  the  day  after  my  arrival,  full  of 
sentiment  over  the  history  and  contents  of  the 
wonderful  structure,  —  as  I  think  one  should 
approach  it ;  and  the  way  led  upward  from  the 
western  town  gate  through  a  piazza  reminiscent 
of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome  —  framed  on  each  side  by 
a  long  arcade  whose  arches  roll  triumphantly  on 
to  a  vast,  recessed  gothic  portal.  This  is  the 
entrance  to  the  lower  church ;  —  for  there  are 
two  churches,  one  above  the  other,  superimposed 
thus  at  the  original  construction,  a  high  and 
soaring  one  upon  a  low  and  dark.  The  upper 
opens  upon  a  separate  and  loftier  piazza,  another 
terrace  of  the  hillside,  which  is  approached  from 
the  space  at  the  side  of  the  lower  church  by  a 
double  flight  of  steps.  The  under  edifice  has  al- 
ways been  the  more  famous,  and  the  more  used. 
I  entered  it  through  the  richly  carved  doorway, 
and  found  myself  at  once  plunged  in  gloom,  — 
a  gloom  silent,  oppressive,  laden  with  countless 
memories  of  the  past,  impregnated  with  the 
breath  of  the  eminent  hundreds  who  have  labored 
in  it  and  the  eminent  thousands  who  have  come 
to  see  and  worship.  On  the  eyes  becoming 
accustomed,  I  found  myself  at  the  south  end  of 
the  eastern  transept,  and  a  few  steps  took  me  to 


152  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  spot  where  the  nave  stretched  away  to  the 
west,  —  marvelous,  unforgettable  sight.  Low, 
heavy,  rounded  arches  rolled  on  in  the  gloom, 
one  succeeding  another,  curving  from  wall  to 
wall,  seeming  to  bear  upon  their  shoulders  the 
weight  of  the  world.  And  now  it  was  no  longer 
gloom :  a  thousand  colors  began  to  glisten  through 
it  from  arches,  walls,  and  vaulting,  reflecting  the 
soft  light  of  the  three  windows  in  the  far  apse, 
—  gently  iridescent  spots  and  curving  lines 
which  sparkled  through  the  dusk  like  stars,  and 
slowly  then  resolved  themselves  into  figures  and 
designs.  These  figures,  clad  in  garments  of  soft 
gold  and  blue  and  crimson,  seemed  to  whisper 
from  the  walls,  which  they  covered  in  a  host  from 
top  to  bottom,  and  breathe  of  the  vast  labor  of 
surpassing  genius  that  had  placed  them  there ; 
and  the  designs  took  up  the  tale  in  glowing  pat- 
terns and  traceries,  carrying  it  lightly  and  happily 
to  the  vaults  above,  embroidering  the  soffits  of 
the  ponderous  arches  and  hanging  like  lace-work 
to  their  sides. 

Four  chapels  opened  on  each  side  from  the 
nave,  covered,  like  it,  with  early  frescoes.  Gentle 
lights  filtered  in  from  them  upon  the  floor, 
illuminating  the  colored  marbles  set  in  the  lower 
walls.  Before  the  windows  of  the  apse  rose  the 
high  altar,  upon  a  platform  at  the  intersection 
of  the  western  transept ;  and  over  that,  I  knew, 
glowed  the  great  frescoes  of  Giotto  from  the 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  153 

ceiling.  These  on  the  sides  of  the  nave  were  done 
by  the  predecessors  of  Cimabue ;  closer  inspec- 
tion proved,  alas,  that  they  were  so  obliterated 
and  faded  as  to  be  almost  undecipherable  in  the 
dim  light ;  only  the  general  color  effect  remained 
here  and  there.  The  work  in  the  chapels  was 
done  by  Martini,  Giottino,  Dona  dei  Doni  and 
Buffalmaco.  I  could  not  at  first,  however,  linger 
with  them  when  the  greater  masters  were  at  hand, 
and  went  on  to  the  western  transept.  There  on 
the  wall  of  the  north  wing  was  the  Madonna  and 
Saints  of  Cimabue  himself,  a  large  panel,  with 
figures  life  size.  I  thought  again  of  the  stiff,  be- 
decked Byzantine  empresses  who  represented  the 
Virgin  before  he  began  to  paint,  and  looked  in 
wonder  at  this  one.  How  could  he  have  accom- 
plished so  great  a  change !  Here  was  a  real 
Madonna  of  likelike  face  and  posture  and  clothes, 
holding  the  child  naturally  on  the  arm,  and 
breathing  out  gentleness,  compassion,  womanli- 
ness, maternity.  Here  was  grace  —  of  composi- 
tion, figure,  and  expression.  The  beautiful  simple 
colors  in  which  he  must  have  worked  were  mostly 
faded  out ;  but  they  are  not  needed  to  exhibit  the 
revolution  which  Cimabue  began. 

I  turned,  then,  to  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  Giotto, 
upon  the  vaulting  over  the  high  altar.  The  space 
is  divided  into  four  triangular  compartments,  each 
occupied  by  a  different  subject,  —  Obedience, 
Poverty,  Chastity,  and  Apotheosis  of  St.  Francis ; 


154  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  each  picture  is  filled  with  a  multitude  of 
figures  upon  an  architectural  background.  What 
a  further  revolution  in  art  was  this  !  A  complete 
abandonment  of  mere  representations  of  Christ, 
Madonna,  and  saints,  —  a  real  composition  of 
figures  engaged  in  action,  a  portrayal  of  an  idea 
by  their  action  and  expressions,  a  realism  of 
movement  and  grouping  and  gesture,  —  the  in- 
ception of  the  dramatic.  Here  at  last  art  ceased 
to  be  a  set  of  colored  designs,  and  began  to  tell 
a  story.  What  a  vast  genius  was  that  of  Giotto  ! 
And  what  daring  he  had  to  launch  upon  the  new 
field  so  boldly,  in  such  large  panels,  bringing  in 
so  many  figures,  and  portraying  abstract  ideas  at 
the  outset,  instead  of  simple  incidents ! 

Here,  for  instance,  in  the  representation  of 
Chastity,  that  virtue  is  shown  as  a  maiden  encased 
in  the  fortress  with  which  she  surrounds  herself 
for  protection,  and  engaged  in  supplication  for 
divine  aid  in  the  tower  thereof ;  two  angels  are 
bringing  her  peace  (the  palm  branch)  and  suste- 
nance (the  Bible) ;  warriors  are  guarding  the 
castle,  in  front  and  on  each  side ;  a  man  is  re- 
ceiving baptism  in  the  ceremonies  of  knighthood, 
whose  knightly  clothes  are  held  by  angels,  and 
to  whom  occupants  of  the  castle  of  Chastity  are 
handing  a  cloak  and  the  banner  of  purity ;  on 
the  right  angels  and  Penance  are  driving  back 
the  devils  of  the  flesh  ;  on  the  left  St.  Francis  is 
introduced  as  receiving  disciples  for  the  defense 


SPELLO  AND  ASSISI  155 

of  the  fortress.  This  is  a  remarkable  allegorical 
study  for  any  period  ;  how  much  more  so  for  the 
very  beginning  of  dramatic  painting.  And  yet 
the  work  does  not  fail  in  the  other  constituents 
of  good  drawing  and  coloring :  firstly,  it  is  so 
exactly  proportioned  in  all  parts  to  the  space  al- 
lotted ;  then  it  is  so  balanced  in  composition  and 
easy  of  movement ;  and  the  genius  carries  itself 
into  detail,  in  the  individual  grace,  postures,  and 
expression.  It  is  beautiful  from  the  whole  mani- 
festation of  the  idea  down  to  the  lovely  faces  of 
the  angels. 

The  other  panels  are  about  equally  good,  of  the 
same  characteristics ;  an  enumeration  of  the  points 
of  one  applies  to  the  four.  After  studying  them 
all  one  comes  back  to  the  realization  that  more 
wonderful  than  all  the  disposition,  grace,  and 
beauty  is  Giotto's  inception  of  the  dramatic. 
From  his  mind  was  born  this  Muse,  so  strong 
that  she  did  not  begin  existence  by  creeping  but 
started  off  at  a  run.  One  finds  it  further  and  still 
more  strongly  illustrated  in  the  series  of  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Jesus,  which  Giotto,  assisted  by 
his  pupils,  placed  on  the  walls  of  the  north  wing 
of  this  transept.  The  portrayal  of  an  abstract 
idea  is  necessarily  somewhat  of  a  tableau ;  the 
representation  of  an  incident  in  real  life  is  action 
arrested,  —  an  instantaneous  photograph,  when 
the  actors  have  had  no  time  to  assume  a  pose. 
Their  disposition,  attitudes,  and  expressions,  then, 


156  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

must  tell  the  story.  So  in  some  of  these  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Jesus  the  dramatic  is  more  prom- 
inent than  in  the  ceiling  work.  In  the  one,  for 
example,  showing  the  visit  of  Elizabeth  to  Mary, 
the  action  is  caught  at  the  moment  when  Eliza- 
beth, accompanied  by  friends,  is  approaching  the 
house  and  being  met  by  Mary  at  the  door.  The 
painting  (as  to  the  persons)  is  as  faithful  as  a 
photograph,  with  yet  a  grace  of  grouping,  move- 
ment, and  gesture  which  is  so  subtly  interwoven 
as  to  seem  perfectly  natural.  The  Madonna's 
whole  situation  and  depth  of  feeling  is  seen  plainly 
in  her  attitude  and  face,  and  in  the  attitudes  and 
expressions  of  all.  She  is  clearly  speaking  of  the 
great  burden  laid  upon  her,  which  she  is  hardly 
able  to  bear ;  and  Elizabeth  is  saying,  "  I  have 
come  to  comfort  you."  In  this  painting  Giotto's 
limitations  are  also  seen  :  he  had  not  mastered 
the  realism  of  architecture  and  of  nature,  —  he 
could  not  portray  a  general  effect  of  foliage  and 
landscape ;  perspective,  atmosphere,  and  light  and 
shadow  were  yet  to  be  discovered.  All  that  was 
too  much  for  one  lifetime  to  accomplish,  —  or 
several. 

The  coloring  of  these  works  is  in  pure  and 
simple  tones,  exactly  suited  to  their  situation  and 
environment.  Clear,  light  colors  with  little  shad- 
ing were  needed  to  set  off  the  frescoes  from  the 
dark  walls  and  in  the  churchly  gloom  ;  but  those 
are  now  much  faded  from  their  original  beauty. 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  157 

After  studying  these  frescoes  of  Giotto,  sub- 
sequent inspection  of  the  work  of  other  artists 
of  his  period  —  such  as  Martini,  Giottino,  and 
Buffalmacco  —  in  the  chapels  of  the  nave,  was  of 
little  interest  to  me  save  as  a  comparison  which 
further  illustrated  his  superiority ;  although 
amongst  the  paintings  of  the  Sienese  master 
Lorenzetti,  in  the  south  wing  of  the  western  tran- 
sept, is  a  Madonna  and  Saints  of  great  beauty,  — 
often  ascribed  also  to  Cavallini. 

The  dramatic  in  painting  to  which  Giotto  gave 
birth  was  inherited  and  followed  up  by  the  Flor- 
entine school,  in  the  hands  of  Masaccio,  the 
Lippis,  Signorelli,  and  Ghirlandajo,  till  it  culmi- 
nated in  Michael  Angelo ;  whereas,  curiously 
enough,  the  Umbrian  school  did  not  take  it  up, 
but  continued  the  other  side  of  art  developed 
by  Cimabue  and  Giotto  —  grace,  sentiment,  and 
beauty.  And  we  can  trace  this  continuance,  in  a 
steady  advancement,  through  the  works  of  Gen- 
tile, Tiberio,  Niccolo,  Pinturicehio,  Perugino,  and 
Lo  Spagna.  Here  in  Assisi  are  found  paintings 
by  Tiberio,  those  in  the  Capella  delle  Rose  of 
S.  Maria  degli  Angeli,  some  of  which  are  suf- 
ficiently preserved  to  show  his  partial  advance 
over  Giotto  in  realistic  delineation  of  the  coun- 
tenance, maintaining  also  his  grace  and  gentle- 
ness. And  in  the  altar-piece  of  Niccolo  in  the 
Duomo  can  be  seen  a  still  greater  improvement 
in  tone  and  finish  and  execution.  Pinturicehio 


158  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  Perugino  are  wanting  to  Assisi.  I  had  seen 
them,  at  their  best,  in  Trevi,  Montefalco,  and 
Spello.  Lo  Spagna,  however,  is  here,  in  S. 
Francesco,  represented  by  a  large  canvas  of  the 
Madonna  and  Saints  in  the  south  wing  of  the 
western  transept.  In  this  can  be  seen  a  culmi- 
nation of  the  characteristic  qualities  of  the  Um- 
brian  school,  enriched  by  a  warm,  golden  tone,  a 
development  of  some  play  of  light  and  shadow, 
and  Lo  Spagna's  wonderful  flesh  coloring.  After 
Lo  Spagna  comes  Raphael,  who  with  his  all-em- 
bracing genius  united  the  attainments  of  all 
schools,  and  the  Umbrian  grace  and  gentleness 
with  the  Florentine  dramatic  action  and  perspec- 
tive. 

St.  Francis  lies  buried  in  a  crypt  below  the 
church,  a  modern  structure  erected  about  the 
spot  where  his  remains,  long  lost,  were  discovered 
in  1818.  I  descended  the  flight  of  steps  from 
the  nave  and  looked  through  a  grating  into  a 
gloomy  chamber  lit  by  burnished  lamps,  and  saw 
the  stone  sarcophagus  in  the  centre.  It  was  a  place 
for  meditation,  —  for  recollection  once  more  of 
what  he  who  lay  there  did  for  the  world. 

The  upper  church  is  reached  from  the  lower 
by  stairs  which  ascend  from  the  sacristy.  On 
first  entering  it  the  transition  is  extraordinary,  — 
from  low-lying  and  confining  gloom  to  lofty, 
spacious  light.  The  eyes  are  dazzled  for  a  mo- 
ment by  the  brightness  and  extent  of  the  aerial 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  159 

nave  and  transept.  Large,  gothic,  three-storied 
windows  flood  the  whole  place  with  sunshine. 
Round  about  the  walls  beneath  them  extends 
a  kind  of  wainscoting  of  masonry,  forming  a 
ground  for  the  great  series  of  frescoes,  which 
march  in  continuous  glowing  procession  from 
portal  to  choir  and  back  again.  Otherwise  the 
nave  is  bare ;  and  the  transept  and  choir  are  bare, 
save  for  high  altar  and  stalls. 

Here  there  is  disappointment ;  for  the  paint- 
ings once  laid  by  Cimabue  over  all  the  lower 
walls  of  the  western  end  of  the  church  are  now 
so  damaged  and  defaced  as  to  be  practically  un- 
readable. An  outline  of  a  figure  can  be  dimly 
made  out  here  and  there,  and  doubtful  colors 
linger  on  in  shapeless  spots.  And  so  with  the 
upper  line  of  frescoes  in  the  nave  by  pupils  of 
Cimabue  ;  but  the  lower  series,  and  most  import- 
ant of  all,  is  fairly  well  preserved,  with  the  aid 
of  modern  disfiguring  restoration.  This  last  series 
is  accredited  to  pupils  of  Giotto,  and  contains 
twenty-eight  grand  scenes  from  the  life  of  St. 
Francis.  Giotto  himself,  however,  must  have  de- 
signed or  overseen  them,  —  they  are  so  forceful 
in  composition,  action,  and  expression,  and  tell 
their  stories  so  vividly.  They  differ  much  in 
execution  —  showing  the  different  hands  that 
wielded  the  brush ;  but  whether  St.  Francis 
be  expelling  evil  spirits  from  Arezzo,  predicting 
the  death  of  a  wicked  nobleman,  or  parting  from 


160  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

St.  Clara,  the  composition  is  of  vigor  and  the 
attitudes  and  expression  real  and  to  the  point. 
It  is  another,  and  vaster,  exhibition  of  Giotto's 
inception  of  the  dramatic. 

The  great  monastery  of  the  Franciscans  lies 
behind  the  church,  jutting  farther  to  the  west 
upon  the  promontory  of  masonry.  One  enters  by 
a  graveled  walk  leading  down  by  the  side  of  the 
lower  church,  and  sees  first  to  the  right  the 
cloisters,  quite  extensive,  just  behind  the  apse. 
To  the  left  here  is  the  great  refectory,  where 
several  hundred  monks  once  took  their  meals, 
and  where  I  saw  long  tables  spread  to-day  for  as 
many  schoolboys.  For  the  national  government 
suppressed  the  monastery  in  1866  and  turned  it 
into  a  school  for  the  sons  of  teachers.  The  passage 
leads  on  to  the  colonnade  upon  the  face  of  the 
cliff  —  the  second  row  of  arches  which  one  sees 
from  a  distance ;  and  there  it  was  a  delight  to 
walk,  indulging  in  the  wide  view  of  the  fertile 
valley  below. 

An  even  more  pleasant  walk  was  that  in  the 
public  gardens  which  the  modern  Assisans  have 
laid  out  upon  the  high-lying  eastern  end  of  the 
town,  where  it  shelves  up  on  a  cliff  above  the 
eastern  gate.  I  used  to  go  there  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  the  sun  threw  his  bright  light  over 
the  shoulder  of  the  cliff  upon  the  town  below ; 
and  go  by  way  of  the  piazza  of  S.  Chiara,  from 
which  there  was  a  preliminary  charming  view  of 


SPELLO  AND  ASSIST  161 

the  nearer  walls  and  towers.  Before  one  fell  the 
houses  to  the  southern  gate,  a  picturesque  mass 
of  ancient  gaping  walls,  like  toothless  age,  sur- 
mounted by  the  campaniles  of  S.  Maria  Maggiore 
and  the  Chiesa  Nuova,  in  which  toy  figures  were 
sure  to  appear  very  soon  and  frantically  ring  the 
bells.  The  bells  are  always  ringing  in  Assisi. 
They  are  always  ringing  everywhere  in  Umbria. 
They  welcome  the  morning  light  when  it  glows 
over  the  eastern  mountains,  throwing  a  fresh 
golden  radiance  upon  the  solid  stone  mass  of  the 
city,  cut  by  its  narrow  winding  ways,  and  topped 
by  its  many  domes  and  towers,  —  when  the  pink 
stone  grows  still  more  pink,  in  glorious,  roseate 
hues ;  they  call  joyously  when  the  sun  has 
mounted  the  horizon ;  they  raise  carols  of  praise 
or  anthems  of  feeling  from  hour  to  hour  of  the 
day,  one  tower  taking  up  the  music  where  another 
lays  it  down.  And  at  sunset  comes  the  grand 
diapason  of  song;  when  a  hundred  sonorous, 
metallic  throats  throw  out  their  sweet  and  stately 
chorus  over  the  golden  Umbrian  plain,  pealing 
from  Spoleto  and  Trevi  and  Spello  and  Assisi, 
praising  the  eventide  which  brings  the  world  one 
day  nearer  to  its  God. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PERUGIA 

THE  plain  of  Umbria  stretches  from  Lake 
Thrasymene  on  the  west  to  Assisi  on  the  east, 
with  two  great  branches  which  diverge  wedge- 
like  to  the  south,  the  one  reaching  its  point  at 
Todi,  the  other  at  Spoleto.  The  Tiber  forces  its 
way  through  the  northern  mountains  to  this  plain 
at  its  centre,  flows  directly  south  across  the  main 
part,  receives  at  the  nose  of  the  promontory  that 
divides  the  two  branches  the  waters  of  the  east- 
ern wedge,  and  then  follows  the  western  wedge 
to  Todi.  Beside  the  Tiber  as  it  emerges  first 
upon  the  plain  rises  a  great  hill  to  a  height  of 
1200  feet  above  its  waters,  which  has  the  posi- 
tion of  a  spur  thrown  forward  from  the  northern 
mountains ;  and  standing  at  the  centre  of  the 
northern  line  of  the  level  country,  its  summit 
commands  absolutely  the  whole  region.  It  over- 
looks the  plain  from  Thrasymene  to  Assisi,  and 
its  branches  to  Todi  and  Spello,  just  as  a  high 
throne  overlooks  and  awes  a  court  room.  Pre- 
historic man  naturally  first  occupied  this  citadel ; 
the  Pelasgi  built  upon  it;  and  the  Etruscans 


PERUGIA  163 

made  it  one  of  their  greatest  cities,  —  a  promi- 
nent member  of  their  historic  league.  It  was 
they  who  gave  it  the  name  of  Perusia. 

The  Romans  early  coveted  the  town,  as  the 
unavoidable  capital  and  mistress  of  Umbria  ;  and 
their  consul  Fabius  in  B.  o.  309  succeeded  in 
taking  it.  After  several  unsuccessful  revolts  the 
Etruscans  acquiesced  in  Roman  rule ;  their  blood, 
then  ancient,  failed  under  the  fierce  young  energy 
of  the  conquerors,  and  Perugia  gradually  became 
a  thorough  Roman  municipium.  In  B.  c.  40  came 
the  terrible  catastrophe  which  utterly  destroyed 
the  ancient  city,  with  its  wealth  of  palaces  and 
temples,  leaving  no  trace  behind  but  the  inde- 
structible Etruscan  walls,  which  still  exist.  The 
consul  Lucius  Antoninus,  fleeing  before  Octa- 
vius  Augustus,  took  refuge  in  Perugia,  which 
supported  him  for  seven  months,  and  fell  by 
famine ;  then  the  citizens  themselves  set  fire  to 
their  beloved  city,  and  it  perished.  When  it 
arose  from  its  ashes  it  was  Augustus  himself  who 
built  it,  and  it  received  the  name  of  Augusta 
Perusia.  The  city  never  suffered  another  destruc- 
tion ;  its  position  was  too  unassailable  for  the 
rapine  which  follows  capture  by  assault.  In  the 
decline  of  Rome  no  barbarian  mounted  the  walls 
of  Perugia,  though  there  is  a  legend  that  Totila 
besieged  it  for  seven  years.  Successively  Byzan- 
tine fortress  and  Lombard  duchy,  the  town  at 
length  shook  itself  free  from  foreign  restraint, 


164  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  began  about  eleven  hundred  A.  D.  to  assert 
its  natural  hegemony  over  Umbria.  Then  came 
the  centuries  of  extraordinary  domestic  conflict, 
of  city  with  city,  and  village  with  village, — 
wars  with  Assisi,  battles  with  Spoleto,  sacks  of 
Arezzo,  till  the  valleys  were  red  with  the  blood 
of  their  unfortunate  inhabitants.  The  lesser 
towns  gradually  gave  way  before  the  stronger, 
till  Perugia  asserted  its  rule  over  all;  a  rule 
which  was  often  rebelled  against,  was  as  often 
reasserted,  and  contracted  and  expanded  with  the 
fortunes  of  the  city  through  centuries  of  vicissi- 
tudes. Not  content  with  their  outer  conflicts,  the 
citizens  of  Perugia  fought  constantly  between 
themselves,  —  brawling,  murdering,  battling, 
burning,  demolishing,  till  it  is  a  wonder  that  any 
buildings  of  the  Middle  Ages  remain  to-day. 
Until  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century  these 
struggles  were  between  the  classes,  —  nobles, 
bourgeois,  and  common  people ;  about  that  time 
the  nobles'  power  became  supreme,  and  thence- 
forth they  fought  amongst  themselves.  The 
Delia  Corgna  killed  the  Delia  Staffa,  the  Arci- 
preti  murdered  the  Delia  Corgna,  the  Oddi  and 
the  Baglioni  cut  each  others'  throats,  —  so  it 
went  incessantly,  from  year  to  year.  Yet,  in 
accordance  with  the  history  of  other  cities, 
through  all  this  turmoil  within  and  wars  without 
Perugia  waxed  ever  stronger  and  wealthier ;  her 
most  prosperous  centuries  were  certainly  the  four- 


PERUGIA  165 

teenth  and  fifteenth.  Before  the  establishment 
of  the  power  of  the  nobles,  three  extraordinary 
men  at  different  times  obtained  sole  mastery  of 
the  city,  men  who  were  first  pure  condottieri, 
then  entered  the  town  with  their  bands,  and 
maintained  by  popularity  for  awhile  the  sover- 
eignty which  they  had  acquired  by  force : 
Michelotti  in  1393,  the  great  Braccio  Forte- 
braccio  from  1416  to  1424,  and  Niccolo  Picci- 
nino  in  1440.  Fortebraccio  was  an  exceptional 
man  in  many  ways;  he  owned  Perugia,  ruled 
all  Umbria,  lorded  it  over  Capua,  and  even  oc- 
cupied Rome  itself;  he  designed  to  unite  the 
whole  of  Italy  under  his  sway,  but  fell  in  battle 
with  Aquila  in  1424. 

From  the  struggles  between  the  nobles  after 
1450  the  Baglioni  finally  emerged  supreme,  hav- 
ing killed,  banished,  or  utterly  subdued  their 
rivals ;  and  began  about  1488  that  tyrannical 
domination  of  one  family  which  was  the  predom- 
inant characteristic  of  mediaeval  Italian  towns. 
The  Baglioni  were  a  race  of  men  magnificent  in 
looks,  bearing,  and  physique,  but  barbarously 
cruel.  Their  sway  was  ended  in  1535  by  Pope 
Paul  IH.,  —  the  great  Paolo  Farnese,  —  who  took 
Perugia  by  force,  demolished  their  castles,  and 
banished  them.  The  Papacy  had  for  five  hundred 
years  pretended  to  exercise  suzerainty  over  the 
city,  a  suzerainty  which  was  often  nominally 
acknowledged  by  the  party  in  power,  and  the 


166  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Popes  had  paid  countless  visits  to  the  place  — 
sometimes  with  a  retinue  for  pleasure,  as  often 
with  an  army  to  chastise  and  go  away  again. 
But  after  Paolo  Farnese  their  rule  was  absolute. 
Upon  the  site  of  the  Baglioni  strongholds  he  built 
a  gigantic  fortress,  —  a  Bastille,  which  subjected 
and  imprisoned  the  Perugians  for  three  hundred 
years.  The  joy  with  which  they  pulled  this  down 
upon  the  occupation  by  Victor  Emmanuel  in 
1860  was  not  less  than  that  of  the  Parisian 
populace  in  1790. 

In  the  domain  of  art  Perugia  came  later  into 
the  fold  of  the  Renaissance  than  Assisi,  or  Siena, 
or  Florence ;  and  her  first  colorists  of  merit  were 
quattrocentists  —  Benedetto  Buonfigli  and  Fio- 
renzo  da  Lorenzo  —  who  mastered  the  ideas  of 
the  Umbrian  school,  and  combined  them  some- 
what with  the  Florentine  dramatic  expression. 
Later  came  Pinturicchio  to  the  city  to  leave  some 
of  his  work ;  and  then  Pietro  Vannucci,  who  be- 
came so  identified  with  the  town,  adorning  it 
with  his  frescoes  and  canvases  and  conducting 
there  a  school  of  painting,  that  he  received  the 
appellation  of  Perugino.  In  his  school  the  young 
Raphael  studied,  and  placed  upon  the  wall  of  the 
little  church  of  S.  Severe  his  first  independent 
fresco. 

It  was  with  these  bits  of  history  in  mind,  — 
of  course  somewhat  lapsed  in  memory  as  to  dates 


PERUGIA  167 

and  details,  and  requiring  to  be  refreshed  —  that 
I  took  the  train  one  bright  May  day  at  the  foot 
of  Assisi's  mountain  for  Perugia.  I  longed  to 
mount  her  commanding  summit,  whose  walls  and 
towers  were  so  plainly  visible,  and  view  from  it 
the  vast  stretch  of  valleys  and  hills  which  she 
had  ruled  so  long,  —  to  walk  through  her  tor- 
tuous mediaeval  streets  where  Oddi  and  Baglioni 
had  fought  and  bled,  —  to  see  the  spot  where 
stood  Paolo  Farnese's  tremendous  fortress,  —  to 
enjoy  her  ancient  buildings  and  churches  with 
their  precious  works  of  Buonfigli  and  Perugino. 
The  train  rolled  westward  across  the  plain, 
whose  festoons  of  grape-vine  hung  more  richly 
leaved  from  tree  to  tree  in  splendid  avenues  than 
when  I  first  entered  it  at  Spoleto.  Then  the  Tiber 
came  in  sight,  muddy  as  when  I  left  it  at  Orte  — 
it  seemed  so  long  ago.  From  its  banks  the  great 
hill  of  Perugia  began  suddenly  to  rise,  and  I 
looked  at  its  towers  twelve  hundred  feet  above 
and  wondered  how  we  should  get  there.  This 
problem  was  solved  by  the  train's  turning  to  the 
south  and  running  several  miles  along  the  flank 
of  the  hill  at  a  steep  ascending  grade,  then  round- 
ing its  nose  and  returning  on  the  west  side,  — 
always  climbing.  Descending  at  the  large  and 
busy  station  I  saw  the  walls  of  the  city  now  but  a 
few  hundred  feet  above.  In  a  vettura  I  made  this 
ascent  by  a  road  of  many  loops,  which  entered 
the  town  at  a  new  southern  gate,  and  then 


168  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

mounted  by  more  windings  the  very  face  of  the 
vast  cliff  of  the  ancient  quarter.  This  cliff  is  the 
forehead  of  the  hill  of  Perugia,  the  acropolis  of 
the  city.  I  looked  at  it  with  great  interest  as  we 
ascended  ;  for  here  on  its  precipitous  summit  the 
Baglioni  built  their  many  castles,  and  here  upon 
their  ruins  Paolo  Farnese  constructed  his  Bas- 
tille. The  cliff  is  faced  with  mediaeval  brick 
masonry,  in  several  terraces  and  angles,  —  the 
still  existing  substructure  of  the  fortress.  When 
we  reached  the  top  I  saw  upon  the  platform  a 
pretty  little  park  of  small  trees  and  shrubs  and 
graveled  walks;  behind  it  the  modern  Prefect- 
ure, a  large  well-proportioned  building  arcaded 
on  four  sides,  and  backed  by  another  open  space 
with  foliage  and  fountains.  On  the  west  side  of 
the  park  we  saw  the  hotel,  which  is  the  pride  of 
Perugia,  facing  the  greenery,  with  its  side  even 
with  the  cliff ;  on  the  east  side  of  the  park,  —  a 
jump  into  the  air  of  two  hundred  feet. 

I  settled  my  belongings  at  the  hotel,  looked 
about  its  luxurious  and  spacious  apartments,  and 
went  out  upon  the  terrace  again  for  the  view. 
A  sense  of  the  greatest  delight  possessed  me,  as 
it  will  any  traveler  who  reaches  this  wonderful 
spot  after  a  tour  through  Umbria.  Here  I  was  in 
Perugia  at  last,  treading  the  foundations  of  her 
famous  fortress  through  flowers  and  trees,  gazing 
off  from  her  acropolis  upon  the  region  she  so 
long  possessed.  Far  below  stretched  the  rich 


PERUGIA  169 

plain  of  Umbria,  gently  rolling  here  and  there, 
in  fields  of  grain,  vineyards,  olive  groves,  and 
copses  of  wood,  —  from  the  mountains  inclosing 
Lake  Thrasymene  on  the  west  to  fair  Assisi 
gleaming  on  the  slope  of  Mt.  Subasio  to  the 
east.  There  divulged  its  right-hand  branch,  the 
valley  of  the  Tiber,  with  the  Tiber  glistening  in 
it  in  bright  meanderings,  to  where  the  moun- 
tains narrowed  far  away  and  met,  and  Todi  sat 
upon  its  hilltop  with  towers  against  the  sky. 
And  there  extended  the  left-hand  branch,  the 
beauteous  vale  of  the  Topino  and  the  Teverone, 
to  Spello  and  Foligno  and  Trevi,  and  the  massive 
snow  peaks  that  glitter  above  the  site  of  Spoleto. 
Close  below  the  terrace  lay  two  of  the  lower 
spurs  of  Perugia,  one  curving  shortly  to  the  south 
in  a  semicircle,  the  other  projecting  long  and 
narrow  to  the  southeast  upon  a  ridge,  ending 
in  a  great  church  and  monastery  topped  by 
an  octagonal,  pointed  tower.  This  I  knew  to  be 
S.  Pietro  de'  Casinensi,  built  in  the  tenth  century 
on  the  site  of  an  Etruscan  temple,  the  first 
cathedral  of  Perugia.  In  the  plain  below  lay 
villas  and  churches,  embossed  in  verdure,  or 
cresting  little  eminences,  stretching  off  count- 
lessly,  with  white  walls  shining  in  the  green,  to 
the  surrounding  mountains.  And  behind  these 
mountains  glowered  higher  peaks,  lining  the 
whole  horizon  with  their  lofty,  rounded  summits, 
—  bare,  or  glistening  with  fields  of  snow.  And 


170  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

even  on  these  summits  —  the  nearer  ones  —  the 
presence  of  man  was  indicated  by  walls  and 
towers  silhouetted  in  little  piles  against  the  sky, 

—  strange  mediaeval  burgs  clinging  there  through 
centuries  of  solitude. 

I  could  not  get  enough  of  this  view ;  I  never 
tired  of  it.  The  Perugians  do  not  tire  of  it  in  a 
lifetime.  They  like  nothing  better  than  to  lean 
from  parapet  and  window-sill,  gazing  silently  by 
the  hour  over  the  beautiful  land  that  their  ances- 
tors ruled.  But  this  first  evening  I  turned  from 
it  after  a  while,  to  look  about  the  terrace  and 
back  upon  the  city.  I  reconstructed  in  my  eye 
the  vast  fortress  of  the  Farnese,  extending  over 
the  whole  summit,  now  occupied  by  the  park 
and  the  Prefecture  and  hotel,  with  its  huge, 
grim  walls  and  little  windows,  and  battlements 
and  donjon  keep.  I  thought  of  the  miscellaneous 
castles  of  the  Baglioni  perched  here  before  the 
fortress,  from  whose  lofty  towers  they  watched 
the  city  and  the  plain,  and  from  whose  guarded 
gates  they  sallied  out  to  plunder  and  destroy. 
What  dark  and  fearful  days  those  were !  And 
now  I  looked  upon  a  scene  of  peace  and  beauty, 

—  the  graceful  Prefecture  with  its  rows  of  arches, 
and  on  each  side  a  broad,  straight  way  leading 
north  to  the  centre  of  the  city  between  rows  of 
goodly  buildings. 

It  was  the  left-hand  one  of  these  streets  that 
I  took  for  my  first  walk  about  the  town,  —  the 


PERUGIA  171 

Corso,  which  runs  from  the  park  and  the  hotel 
to  the  central  piazza  and  the  Duomo  four  hundred 
yards  away,  and  which  is  pleasantly  called  the 
Corso  Vanucci.  Worthy  citizens,  to  remember 
their  artist  first  of  all ;  this  savors  of  Tuscany. 
Two  things  struck  me  at  once  as  I  walked  along 
between  high  plastered  fagades  and  well-dressed, 
busy  people :  Perugia  did  not  die  with  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  and  Perugia  is  no  longer  warlike.  She 
did  not  stagnate  and  decay  within  her  ancient 
walls  with  the  coming  of  modern  times,  like 
Assisi  and  Spello  and  Trevi,  for  here  were  pros- 
perity and  business ;  true  to  her  valor  and  her 
history,  she  has  kept  on  advancing.  And  in  this 
advancement  the  ferocity  and  unrest  which  were 
the  marked  characteristics  of  her  people  from 
earliest  ages,  have  turned  to  thrift  and  courtesy. 
I  saw  them,  and  afterwards  always  found  them, 
well-mannered  and  comparatively  prosperous. 

As  I  approached  the  Piazza  the  street  assumed 
a  different  look ;  mediaeval  Perugia  began  to  ap- 
pear. Here  were  renaissance  cornices  and  door- 
ways, and  beautiful  gothic  balconies.  The  houses 
were  centuries  old,  built  of  large,  black  stones  that 
formed  pointed  arches  over  the  windows.  And  then 
there  loomed  up  on  the  left  the  great  Palazzo  Pub- 
blico  itself,  huge  and  beautiful,  with  exquisite  tre- 
foil windows  high  in  its  long  fayade.  A  mighty 
clock-tower  raised  its  heavy  head  above  the  roof ; 
and  in  its  foot  there  opened  a  cavernous  archway, 


172  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

through  which  a  side  street  darted  off,  and  fell  be- 
tween dark,  narrow  walls.  A  colonnade  of  pointed 
arches,  now  mostly  filled  up  with  doors  and  win- 
dows, formed  the  ground  story  of  the  Palazzo ; 
above  came  the  long  rows  of  trefoil  windows, 
and  above  them  a  massive  battlemented  parapet. 
The  main  doorway  opened  from  the  street-level 
in  a  large  arch  beautifully  recessed  in  gothic 
moulding  and  tracery,  with  the  quaint  images  of 
three  saints  in  the  lunette;  and  on  each  side 
crouched  a  mediaeval  lion  on  a  pedestal,  support- 
ing on  his  back  a  carved  column,  with  a  griffin 
—  the  emblem  of  Perugia  —  on  the  top.  This 
is  the  building  that  alone  survived  intact  the 
conflicts  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  however  much 
they  pillaged  and  destroyed  all  else,  their  Palazzo 
Pubblico  was  sacred  to  the  citizens.  When  even 
the  Duomo  itself,  across  the  Piazza,  was  turned 
into  a  fortress  by  the  Baglioni  in  1489  dur- 
ing a  peculiarly  desperate  conflict  with  the  Oddi, 
neither  of  the  combatants  touched  the  Palazzo. 
It  was  then  about  one  hundred  and  thirty  years 
of  age,  —  just  the  time  that  was  taken  to 
build  it. 

Across  the  street  rose  three  interesting  pri- 
vate structures,  whose  ground  floors  were  occu- 
pied now  by  stores.  All  were  of  heavy  stone, 
and  round-arched  from  base  to  parapet ;  the  first 
had  a  battlemented  tower,  the  third  —  upon  a 
corner  —  some  large  trefoil  windows  like  the 


THE   MAIN    DOORWAY,   PALAZZO   PUBBLICO  — PERUGIA 


PERUGIA  173 

Palazzo.  In  this  last,  they  told  me,  Pemgino  used 
to  keep  his  studio.  At  this  point  the  Piazza 
opened  out  to  right  and  left,  and  in  front  was 
faced  by  the  high  unfinished  side  of  the  cathe- 
dral. Before  its  bare  brick  walls,  which  the  citi- 
zens had  succeeded  in  covering  with  colored 
marble  to  a  height  of  a  few  feet  only,  sat  Pope 
Julius  III.  in  bronze  upon  a  pedestal,  looking  off 
down  the  Corso,  —  the  Pope  who  abolished  many 
of  the  severities  laid  upon  Perugians  by  Paolo 
Farnese,  and  restored  to  them  their  ancient  lib- 
erties. To  the  east  modern  buildings  faced  the 
Piazza ;  to  the  west  the  remains  of  the  Palazzo 
Vescovile,  built  over  with  recent  fagades.  On 
the  south  was  the  end  of  the  Palazzo  Pubblico, 
more  picturesque  even  than  its  front.  The  tre- 
foil windows  and  parapet  extended  around,  and 
below  them  were  two  charming  entrance  ways : 
on  the  left  a  sculptured  portal  approached  by  a 
fan-like  course  of  steps  ;  on  the  right,  stairs  lead- 
ing to  a  balcony  upheld  by  colored  marble 
columns.  And  from  the  wall  projected  two  huge 
bronze  beasts,  roaring  towards  the  Duomo,  a  lion 
and  a  griffin  side  by  side. 

In  the  centre  of  the  Piazza  I  saw  the  famous 
fountain  of  Perugia,  designed  by  her  architect, 
Bevignate,  and  sculptured  by  Niccold  and  Gio- 
vanni Pisano  about  1280.  It  is  therefore  one  of 
the  earliest  products  of  the  Renaissance,  as  well 
as  a  very  beautiful  thing.  I  approached  with 


174  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

great  interest  to  examine  the  carvings.  There 
are  three  basins,  the  lower  two  of  stone,  the  up- 
permost of  bronze ;  the  first  is  quite  extensive, 
many-sided,  three  feet  or  so  in  height,  each  side 
empaneled  with  a  figure  or  figures  in  bas-relief ; 
the  second  rises  from  within  the  first  on  a  multi- 
tude of  slender  columns,  and  holds  on  its  many 
angles  a  concourse  of  statuettes;  the  third  — 
not  by  the  Pisani  —  is  a  small  basin  with  nereids 
and  the  griffin.  As  I  looked  at  the  sculptures  I 
thought  of  the  stiff,  crude  effigies  that  were  all 
that  the  world  could  make  when  Niccol6  Pisano 
was  born,  and  saw  the  genius  that  had  produced 
these.  Instead  of  dummies  of  no  human  resem- 
blance, here  were  life-like  beings  on  the  panels 
and  the  angles,  in  natural  postures,  with  faces 
often  beautiful ;  and,  in  the  panels,  they  were 
actually  in  motion,  —  easy,  graceful  motion  that 
portrayed  an  idea ;  they  walked  and  conversed 
and  sowed  and  reaped,  and  told  the  old  story  of 
Adam  and  Eve.  Niccol6  Pisano  revived  the 
realistic,  the  beautiful,  and  the  dramatic  in  sculp- 
ture, as  Giotto  did  in  painting. 

It  was  interesting  to  see  the  iron  railing  about 
the  fountain  that  the  Perugians  placed  there  cen- 
turies ago  to  preserve  it ;  they  made  special  laws 
for  its  careful  use  and  protection  ;  and  they  went 
to  vast  labor  and  expense  to  bring  the  water  to 
it  over  aqueducts  and  through  the  hills. 

I  sat  upon  the  side  steps  of  the  Duomo  —  as 


PERUGIA  175 

I  did  many  times  afterwards  —  and  looked  across 
the  historic  square  to  the  Palazzo.  No  piazza  in 
Italy  is  more  eloquent  and  suggestive  of  the 
past,  —  the  dreadful  yet  beautiful  mediaeval  past, 
when  life  was  so  strong  and  fierce,  and  passions 
blazed  so  suddenly  to  the  bad  and  to  the  good, 
when  men  fought  their  neighbors  one  day,  and 
the  next  labored  unpaid  on  their  Palazzo.  Here 
above  my  head  projected  from  the  wall  of  the 
cathedral  the  carved  and  inlaid  marble  pulpit 
where  St.  Bernardino  used  to  preach  to  the 
Perugians,  who  were  at  one  time  so  taken  by  re- 
ligious frenzy  that  fully  a  quarter  of  the  popula- 
tion turned  Franciscans.  Doubtless  they  doffed 
the  habit  next  month. 

Adjacent  on  the  cathedral  wall  is  the  southern 
door,  above  which  filled-in  brick-work  attests  that 
something  else  once  stood  there.  This  something 
else  was  a  great  crucifix  facing  the  Piazza ;  and 
one  stormy  night  in  the  year  1539,  when  the  army 
of  Paolo  Farnese  was  battering  at  the  gates  of  the 
city  and  the  last  of  the  Baglioni  and  its  fight- 
ing men  were  gone,  the  chancellor  of  Perugia 
accompanied  by  the  terrified  and  weeping  citi- 
zens came  here  to  place  the  keys  of  the  city  at 
the  feet  of  the  dead  Christ.  Extraordinary  and 
touching  ceremony !  Thereafter  every  night 
through  ah1  the  centuries  a  lamp  was  lit  above 
the  crucifix  in  commemoration  of  it.  I  saw  this 
lamp  still  hanging  above  the  doorway,  and  it  is 
still  lighted  at  eventide. 


176  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  looked  across  the  square  and  thought  of  how 
many,  countless  times,  in  the  days  before  Paolo 
Farnese,  it  had  run  with  the  blood  of  the  citizens 
in  fratricidal  contest;  and  of  how  many  ceremo- 
nials, joyous  or  pathetic,  how  many  stately  pro- 
cessions, it  has  held.  I  could  fairly  see  the 
dignified  Priori,  or  senators,  marching  down 
the  spreading  steps  of  the  Palazzo  in  rich  robes 
of  gold  and  crimson,  to  receive  the  subjection  of 
some  frightened  town  whose  deputation  bore  its 
keys. 

There  at  the  western  end  of  the  Piazza,  where 
a  way  runs  down  behind  the  Bishop's  Palace,  the 
young  Astorre  Baglioni  once  held  at  bay  for  an 
hour  a  host  of  exiled  nobles  who  were  trying  to 
reenter  and  take  the  city.  All  alone  he  stood, 
flashing  his  mighty  sword  about  him ;  "  and  so 
many  lances,  partisans,  and  cross-bow  quarries, 
and  other  weapons,  made  upon  his  body  a  most 
mighty  din,  that  above  every  other  noise  and 
shout  was  heard  the  thud  of  those  great  strokes." 
And  hold  the  way  he  did,  until  the  family  re- 
tainers had  gathered  and  armed,  and  came  on  to 
drive  out  the  enemy. 

I  walked  over  to  this  interesting  spot.  The 
street  from  the  Piazza  runs  down  a  few  paces  be- 
tween high  walls  of  old  dark  stone  with  frag- 
ments of  reliefs  upon  them  above,  to  a  renais- 
sance fagade  of  arches  and  pilasters  that  blocks 
the  way ;  and  then,  in  silence  and  gloom  the 


PERUGIA  177 

street  divides  into  two  narrow  lanes  that  plunge 
downward  right  and  left,  —  through  archways 
and  between  bristling,  mighty  walls.  No  spot  could 
be  more  mediaeval;  I  have  never  seen  any  as 
much  so.  These  buildings  have  their  foundation 
in  Roman  times,  to  speak  by  the  heavy  stones ; 
and  up  they  rise  on  all  sides,  in  close  confining 
grimness,  to  a  vast  height,  with  tiny  barred  win- 
dows and  narrow  doors.  Arches  holding  rooms 
and  corridors  cross  from  wall  to  wall  here,  there, 
and  everywhere ;  one  is  suspended  between  two 
battlemented  towers  nearly  a  hundred  feet  above. 
And  just  before  the  observer,  to  relieve  the 
gloom,  is  a  touch  of  beauty;  a  little  arch  of 
colored  marble,  leaping  from  a  wall  to  a  carved 
marble  column,  standing  alone  in  its  daintiness, 
—  a  last  relic  of  the  Palazzo  del  Podesta  that 
stood  here  many  centuries  ago. 

I  recrossed  the  Piazza  —  called  S.  Lorenzo 
after  the  cathedral  —  and  took  the  street  that 
leads  from  it  around  the  eastern  fagade  of  the 
Duomo  to  another  piazza  in  its  rear,  named  after 
Dante.  Upon  this  fronts  the  modern  theatre  of 
Perugia ;  and  five  streets  branch  out  from  it,  — 
two  to  east  and  west  respectively  and  three  to  the 
north.  I  followed  each  in  turn  for  a  short  distance. 
The  right-hand  street  on  the  north  is  the  only 
one  that  keeps  the  level  of  the  hilltop ;  it  even 
mounts  a  little.  Following  it  through  the  Piazza 
di  Porta  Sole  I  reached  its  termination  in  the 


178  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

little  Piazza  delle  Prome  on  the  verge  of  a  cliff. 
This  was  the  northern  end  of  the  hilltop  on 
which  ancient  Perugia  was  built,  —  a  long  and 
narrow  ridge  extending  north  and  south  from 
this  Piazza  delle  Prome  to  the  park  before  the 
Prefettura.  Here  it  fell  sheer  for  a  hundred  feet, 
faced  with  the  city  wall  of  the  Etruscans ;  which 
could  be  followed  with  the  eye  to  right  and  left 
as  it  curved  out  to  embrace  the  slope  of  the  hill 
on  the  northeast  and  northwest.  Above  the 
Etruscan  work  in  the  substructure  of  the  wall 
rose  the  work  of  the  Romans ;  all  was  massive, 
—  great  blocks  laid  on  a  great  scale.  The  view 
took  in  the  northern  additions  to  the  town  made 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the  Via  Pinturicchio  with 
its  double  row  of  houses  directly  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliff,  —  beyond  which  dipped  a  vast  ravine, 
separating  in  its  spread  the  two  long  ridges  that 
extended  to  the  northeast  and  northwest.  Each 
of  these  ridges  bore  a  double  or  triple  row  of 
dwellings  on  its  back;  that  on  the  left  had 
several  churches,  and  is  the  Borgo  S.  Angelo, 
whose  people  were  always  considered  the  wick- 
edest and  most  desperate  in  the  city.  I  thought 
of  how  narrowly  it  escaped  destruction  when 
Marcantonio  Baglioni  lighted  torches  to  burn  it 
in  1500.  Then,  when  his  family  were  at  the 
height  of  their  power  and  magnificence,  and 
Astorre's  wedding  with  a  daughter  of  the  Co- 
lonna  was  being  celebrated  by  the  whole  city  with 


PERUGIA  179 

extraordinary  festivities,  Grif onetto  Baglioni  with 
bravoes  in  the  dead  of  night  murdered  Astorre, 
Simonetto  and  Guido.  The  beautiful  and  mar- 
tial Astorre  perished  in  the  arms  of  his  bride 
exclaiming  "  Miserable  Astorre,  to  die  like  a 
poltroon."  Gianpaolo  escaped,  to  return  later  and 
slay  the  traitor.  Marcantonio  had  been  in  Naples. 
When  he  returned  it  was  all  over ;  Grif  onetto 
was  dead,  and  over  a  hundred  suspected  accom- 
plices had  been  butchered  by  Gianpaolo  in  the 
Piazza.  Marcantonio's  wrath  had  no  tangible 
object  to  vent  itself  upon,  so  he  set  out  to 
demolish  the  Borgo  of  S.  Angelo  on  general 
principles.  But  Gianpaolo  finally  dissuaded  him 
at  the  last  moment. 

The  view  from  this  point  ranges  out  over  the 
borgoes  to  the  mountains  on  the  northern  horizon, 
which  stretch  along  in  majestic  outlines  —  the 
backbone  of  the  Apennines.  In  the  upper  valley 
of  the  Tiber,  this  side  of  them,  lay,  I  knew,  S. 
Sepolcro  and  Citta  di  Castello,  quaint  old  Um- 
brian  towns  which  once  acknowledged  the  su- 
premacy of  Perugia,  and  which  I  hoped  yet 
to  see. 

The  left-hand  street  of  the  three  emerging 
from  the  north  side  of  the  Piazza  Danti  is  the 
Via  Vecchia  —  rightly  named,  for  it  is  the  oldest 
in  the  city.  Men  have  trodden  it  for  three 
thousand  years.  It  leads  down  the  northwestern 
slope  of  the  hill  to  the  great  Roman  city  gate, 


180  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

called  the  arch  of  Augustus ;  at  least  it  was  a 
city  gate  in  Roman  days,  though  the  Borgo  S. 
Angelo  was  afterwards  built  up  beyond  it.  When 
I  first  went  down  the  Via  Vecchia  I  realized 
immediately  the  vast  difference  between  it  and 
the  top  of  the  hill ;  this  was  ancient  Perugia,  of 
the  Romans  and  Etruscans.  The  house  walls 
towered  high  and  dark  above  the  narrow  way, 
built  of  travertine  blocks  that  looked  as  old  as 
the  hills ;  like  fortresses  they  seemed,  rather  than 
dwellings.  Marks  of  alteration  through  the  ages 
were  everywhere  visible  —  former  doorways  and 
windows  now  built  up,  and  occasionally  new  ones 
cut.  As  the  walls  grew  still  higher  I  saw  the 
gateway  ahead,  of  surprising  loftiness  —  a  vast 
archway  with  windowed  corridor  above.  The 
facades  of  the  houses  here  were  of  heavy  Roman 
workmanship,  the  same  as  the  arch ;  save  that  on 
the  right  rose  one  renaissance  facing  of  ponderous 
lines,  with  ledges  and  cornices  heavy  enough  to 
sink  the  structure  into  the  ground.  Passing 
through  the  gateway  and  viewing  it  from  with- 
out, it  proved  a  monument  of  extraordinary  in- 
terest. No  other  Roman  gate  can  equal  it;  it 
reminds  one  of  the  Colosseum  and  the  Pont  du 
Gard  —  so  mighty  is  it.  Two  vast  square  piers 
of  travertine  masonry  rise  beside  the  archway, 
projecting  well  forward,  and  narrowing  toward 
the  top.  On  the  summit  of  the  left-hand  one, 
eighty  feet  above,  is  a  graceful  pavilion  with 


PERUGIA  181 

a  loggia,  added  in  renaissance  days.  Over  the  arch 
is  inscribed  in  cut  letters  "Augusta  Perusia." 
Above  that  are  the  remains  of  Roman  relief 
work  —  huge  pilasters  supporting  an  entablature. 
In  its  mutilated  state  it  is  still  a  splendid  piece 
of  architecture,  attaining  the  height  of  archi- 
tectural merit,  the  combination  of  grace  with 
strength. 

The  hill  of  Perugia  upon  which  the  original 
city  was  built  slopes  gradually  and  evenly  for 
some  distance  westward  from  the  backbone  of  it 
formed  by  the  Corso,  and  after  some  four  hun- 
dred yards  drops  precipitously.  The  Etruscan 
and  Roman  city  walls  ran  westward  from  the  gate 
of  Augustus  to  take  in  this  ancient  quarter,  and 
encompassed  its  three  cliff-bound  sides.  Here 
Perugia  is  still  as  ancient  in  spots  as  the  Via 
Vecchia,  and  where  she  is  not  ancient  she  is 
mediaeval.  The  ways  twist  and  turn  and  dodge 
and  burrow,  between  high  gloomy  stone  walls 
and  through  incessant  archways.  Roman  masonry 
is  seen,  and  mediaeval,  —  often  composed  of  odds 
and  ends  of  stone  and  brick,  —  and  renaissance, 
with  pleasing  balanced  fagades  and  heavy  cor- 
nices. Here  and  there  the  streets  turn  to  stair- 
ways. Little  piazzas  open  out  occasionally  with 
bursts  of  sunlight  in  them  where  the  people  sit 
and  children  play.  The  ways  are  quite  clean,  and 
there  are  few  offensive  odors,  such  as  mark  the 
smaller  towns.  Everywhere  one  sees  flowers  grow- 


182  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

ing  in  pots  set  in  rings  beneath  the  windows,  a 
thing  that  speaks  volumes  for  the  nature  of  the 
modern  Perugian.  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  wan- 
der in  such  surroundings  —  to  have  the  pictur- 
esque, the  mediaeval  and  the  ancient,  without 
their  squalor ! 

The  principal  street  of  this  quarter  is  the  Via 
dei  Priori,  the  same  which  starts  under  the  clock- 
tower  of  the  Palazzo  Pubblico.  Some  way  down  it 
runs  past  the  only  tower  of  the  hundreds  that  the 
nobles  of  the  Middle  Ages  built  for  battling  which 
exists  intact ;  and  even  this,  climbing  heavily  far 
into  the  blue  sky,  has  had  its  head  shaved  of 
battlements.  Shortly  beyond,  the  street  slopes 
through  a  cut  in  the  western  cliff  to  an  Etruscan 
city  gate,  which  is  pointed  like  the  gothic. 
Just  inside,  in  contrast,  is  a  little  church  with 
beautiful  renaissance  details  ;  and  close  at  hand 
on  the  outside  is  another  church  —  S.  Bernardino 
—  with  a  very  remarkable  f agade.  It  is  of  marble 
and  terra  cotta,  one  mass  of  sculpture  and  a  glow 
of  many  colors,  executed  by  the  Florentine  artist, 
Agostino  di  Duccio,  in  1460.  Beautiful  traceries 
are  spread  about  the  doorway,  and  dancing  girls 
in  bas-relief  contrast  with  stately  saints  upon 
their  pedestals. 

I  did  not  wait  long  after  my  arrival  in  Perugia 
before  going  to  see  Perugino's  famous  frescoes 
in  the  Collegio  del  Cambio,  the  old  Chamber  of 
Commerce,  situated  on  the  Corso  just  north  of 


PERUGIA  183 

the  Palazzo  Pubblico.  The  master  executed  them 
by  order  of  the  guild  of  merchants  in  1500,  at 
the  very  time  when  the  Baglioni  were  murder- 
ing each  other  and  slaying  hundreds  of  people 
in  the  streets  and  the  Piazza  near  by.  One  enters 
the  two  Halls  of  the  Merchants  directly  from  the 
Corso  ;  the  second  one,  with  beautiful  carved 
judicial  seat  and  bench  of  the  money-changers, 
contains  Perugino's  five  great  panels.  They  are  the 
best  of  his  work  in  Perugia  now ;  Napoleon  the 
First  was  not  able  to  carry  them  off  as  he  did 
the  canvases.  Each  of  the  two  scenes  on  the  left 
wall  contains  six  heroes  of  antiquity  standing  in 
a  row ;  in  spite  of  the  stiffness  of  such  a  compo- 
sition they  are  pleasing  from  the  Peruginesque 
grace  and  beauty  of  the  younger  men.  On  the 
back  wall  are  the  two  main  scenes,  a  Transfigu- 
ration and  an  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds  (com- 
monly called  Magi,  which  is  a  mistake).  They 
are  wonderful,  delightful  frescoes.  In  addition 
to  the  usual  qualities  of  the  Umbrian  school  which 
Perugino  brought  to  a  finish,  they  are  individ- 
ually remarkable :  the  Adoration  for  its  exquisite 
balance  in  grouping  and  landscape,  and  its  warm 
atmosphere  and  perspective  which  make  an  ideal 
scene  more  real,  and  therefore  more  beautiful; 
the  Transfiguration  for  its  demonstration  of  a 
dramatic  power  that  Perugino  seldom  showed 
elsewhere.  The  apostles  are  rising  from  the 
ground  in  wonder  and  apprehension,  every  muscle 


184  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  their  bodies  moving  under  the  very  eye.  The 
awesomeness  of  the  situation  is  sent  straight  to 
the  spectator's  mind.  This  is  a  finer,  subtler 
dramatic  expression  than  the  muscular  contor- 
tions of  Signorelli.  Perugino  had  this  great 
power,  and  did  not  use  it ;  what  a  pity !  On 
the  right  wall  are  prophets  and  sibyls,  sur- 
mounted by  the  figure  of  Jehovah. 

One  of  the  pleasures  of  Perugia  is  to  be  able 
at  any  time  to  drop  into  this  little  place,  stepping 
directly  from  the  sidewalk  of  the  Corso  (a  small 
admission  fee  keeps  out  idlers)  and  sit  down  to 
gaze  at  these  beautiful  masterpieces.  Close  at 
hand  also  is  the  entrance  to  the  Palazzo  Pubblico 
and  its  art  gallery.  Here  one  mounts  the  mas- 
sive, winding  stone  stairway  that  so  many  gener- 
ations of  Perugians  have  mounted,  to  the  third 
floor,  passing  glass  doors  through  which  can  be 
seen  great  old-fashioned  halls  with  heavy  tim- 
bered ceilings.  The  gallery  is  placed  in  about 
twenty  consecutive  rooms,  and  very  well  arranged, 
chronologically;  exhibiting  the  steps  by  which 
painting  advanced  from  the  primitive  or  Byzan- 
tine stiffness  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
turies to  the  Sienese  school  of  the  Renaissance, 
and  in  Perugia,  through  the  works  of  Buonfigli 
and  Fiorenzo,  to  the  triumphs  of  the  Umbrian 
school.  The  churches  of  Perugia  have  been 
ransacked  and  stripped  of  their  Madonnas  and 
Saints  and  Holy  Families,  and  one  cannot  help 


PERUGIA  185 

thinking  that  they  would  look  better  in  the  sur- 
roundings for  which  they  were  made.  The  works 
of  Siena  here  are,  it  is  true,  but  few,  and  want- 
ing illustrious  names  —  save  that  of  Taddeo  Bar- 
tolo;  one  must  go  to  Siena  for  her  paintings. 
But  Perugia's  early  masters,  Buonfigli  and  Fio- 
renzo,  are  here  both  in  quantity  and  quality. 
Some  people  say  that  there  was  no  master  at 
Perugia  before  Buonfigli  —  meaning  no  painter 
of  merit  —  and  yet  he  was  contemporary  with 
Perugino's  youth.  He  worked  up  his  art  with 
his  own  ideas,  was  no  pupil  of  Florence  or  Siena, 
and  must  be  given  great  credit  for  his  accomplish- 
ments. His  work,  as  shown  in  the  frescoes  and 
canvases,  partook  of  the  Umbrian  qualities  of 
gentle  beauty,  and  yet  —  what  is  curious  —  he 
developed  a  high  sense  and  execution  of  the 
dramatic  also.  In  this  gallery  one  of  the  rooms 
is  covered  with  large  frescoes  of  his  portraying 
the  lives  of  St.  Louis  and  St.  Ercolano,  showing 
much  realistic  action,  directed  so  as  to  reveal  the 
motives  for  it.  Fiorenzo  da  Lorenzo  was  a  pupil 
of  Buonfigli,  and  his  work  advanced  over  the 
latter's  in  tone,  execution,  and  finish  though 
not  in  dramatic  power.  One  of  his  canvases,  an 
Adoration  of  the  Magi,  is  full  of  exceptional 
grace  and  finish. 

The  work  of  these  two  early  masters  gives  the 
character  to  the  collection,  and  was  the  most  in- 
teresting to  me.  The  representation  of  Perugino 


186  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

is  quite  disappointing,  —  canvases  of  his  inex- 
perienced youth  and  decadent  old  age,  and  poor 
copies  of  the  wonderful  frescoes  in  the  Sala  del 
Cambio.  But  one  or  two  hold  the  gentle  fire  of 
his  genius.  There  is  a  fine  Pinturicchio,  a  great 
wooden  altar-piece  whose  panels  are  filled  with 
exquisitely  drawn  Madonna,  Saints,  and  Annun- 
ciation, showing  a  pietistic  grace,  beauty,  and 
execution  not  inferior  to  Perugino.  There  are 
fragments  of  an  altar-piece  by  Fra  Angelico,  of 
remarkable  loveliness  in  the  Bambino,  and  sur- 
prising character-drawing  in  the  faces  of  the 
Saints,  which  one  does  not  look  for  in  his  work. 
And  there  is  a  beautiful  Lo  Spagna,  the  only 
specimen  left  in  Perugia  of  that  great  artist,  who 
studied  here  in  the  school  of  Perugino.  Almost 
the  finest  picture  of  the  collection  is  of  uncertain 
attribution,  an  Adoration  of  the  Magi,  of  won- 
derful tone,  composition,  and  coloring;  it  has 
been  often  ascribed  to  Eusebio  di  San  Giorgio, 
the  favorite  pupil  of  Perugino,  but  is  too  great 
for  him.  It  is  up  to  Raphael's  standard ;  and  he 
alone,  if  he  did  not  actually  lay  on  the  colors, 
could  have  designed  it. 

Perugia  used  to  have  many  works  of  Raphael. 
They  are  all  gone  now,  it  is  sad  to  think,  except 
his  fresco  in  S.  Severe,  which  the  conqueror  could 
not  take  and  the  necessitous  could  not  sell.  The 
chapel  of  S.  Severe  lies  at  the  north  end  of  the  hill- 
top, just  east  of  the  Piazza  delle  Prome.  I  first 


MADONNA,  BY   PERUGINO— PERUGIA 


PERUGIA  187 

went  there,  I  remember,  by  way  of  the  Piazza 
Sopramura.  This  piazza,  and  the  Via  Baglioni 
leading  to  it  from  the  park  before  the  Prefettura, 
extend  north  and  south  parallel  to  the  Corso,  at 
the  same  level,  forming  the  eastern  edge  of  the 
hill-top ;  so  near  are  they  to  the  brink  that  the 
piazza,  as  its  name  indicates,  is  actually  sustained 
by  the  old  Etruscan  city  wall,  with  transverse  sup- 
ports erected  by  Fortebraccio.  As  I  walked  down 
the  Via  Baglioni,  which  those  bravoes  rushed 
through  so  many  a  time  with  sword  in  hand, 
I  thought  that  the  square  is  a  more  substantial 
memorial  to  Braccio  than  any  street  name  could 
be.  It  is  long  and  not  very  wide,  made  pictur- 
esque by  old  buildings,  and  by  sloping  at  its 
northern  end  into  a  sharply  falling  way,  above 
which  towers  on  the  left  a  mass  of  confused 
mediaeval  houses.  On  its  right  is  a  stretch  of 
beautiful  renaissance  fagades,  —  first  the  old 
University,  built  in  1483,  with  graceful  window- 
frames  of  simple  moulding,  then  the  Palazzo  del 
Capitano  del  Popolo,  dating  from  1472.  The 
latter  is  adorned  with  a  high  arched  doorway, 
recessed  with  exquisite  tracery,  and  mediaeval 
lions  upon  consoles  above  ;  also  with  a  series  of 
light,  double-arched,  renaissance  windows  over 
a  string-course,  having  a  rich  frieze  of  wreaths 
under  their  cornices ;  and  lastly  with  a  most 
lovely  carved  balcony,  resting  upon  large,  thin 
consoles  receding  to  the  wall  in  steps  of  acan- 


188  HILL   TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

thus  leaves.  This  is  the  most  charming  fagade 
in  Perugia. 

Every  morning  this  piazza  of  Fortebraccio  is 
put  to  excellent  use  by  the  peasantry,  who  hold 
their  vegetable  market  in  it,  with  a  concourse  of 
stalls  covered  by  picturesque  green  umbrellas. 
I  picked  my  way  through  the  lettuce  and  arti- 
chokes and  bright  piles  of  oranges,  and  took  a 
little  street  at  the  north  end  of  the  piazza  that 
penetrates  the  mass  of  buildings  above  it  like  a 
tunnel.  In  fact,  it  is  a  tunnel,  winding  for  some 
distance  through  the  basements  of  dwellings, 
with  the  light  coming  in  through  a  well  here 
and  there,  climbing  out  at  last  on  the  Via  Bon- 
tempi,  whence  it  is  but  a  few  steps  to  S.  Severe. 
I  found  in  Raphael's  fresco  in  this  chapel  a  great 
resemblance,  of  course,  to  his  master  Perugino, 
but  also  the  signs  of  his  near  breaking  away  from 
the  traditions  of  the  Umbrian  school.  The  fresco 
is  much  injured ;  it  represents  the  Saviour  in 
glory,  with  saints  and  angels ;  the  picture  of  God 
the  Father  at  the  top  has  been  quite  obliterated. 
Below  are  six  saints  by  Perugino,  resembling 
Raphael's  above,  but  not  as  good ;  for  at  this 
time,  1505,  Perugino  was  in  his  decline,  and  also 
had  ceased  to  take  pains.  The  figure  of  the 
Saviour  shows  Raphael's  coming  greatness,  in  its 
combination  of  strength  with  beauty,  and  power 
of  execution  with  that  of  expression. 

On   leaving  the  chapel  I  went  around   and 


PERUGIA  189 

down  to  the  gate  of  Augustus,  and  followed  the 
street  of  the  Borgo  S.  Angelo  to  its  termination 
over  half  a  mile  to  the  northwest.  There  was 
but  one  row  of  houses  on  each  side  just  occupying 
the  top  of  the  ridge  ;  and  the  fagades  of  these 
mediaeval  structures  were  uninteresting,  for  they 
had  been  plastered.  Occasionally  I  saw  a  pretty 
relic  of  renaissance  tunes  and  ancient  customs, 
—  a  doorway  with  stone  lintel  beautifully  cut 
with  a  wreath  and  ribbons  in  relief,  looking 
out  of  place  on  a  dingy,  crumbling  dwelling. 
These  carved  lintels  may  be  seen  all  over  the 
city.  The  children  of  Borgo  S.  Angelo  seemed 
to  me  to  exhibit  clear  traces  of  the  wickedness  of 
their  forefathers  ;  a  crowd  of  them  pulled  at  my 
coat  and  annoyed  me  with  screams  for  half  an 
hour.  Half  way  out  is  the  church  of  S.  Agos- 
tino,  uninteresting  save  for  some  carved  choir 
stalls  ascribed  to  Perugino,  and  mediocre  paint- 
ings in  the  oratory  j  but  at  the  end  is  the  sixth- 
century  church  of  S.  Angelo,  after  which  the 
Borgo  is  named.  It  is  really  a  Roman  temple, 
which  stood  on  this  knoll  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  the  ancient  city,  and  thus  escaped 
the  destruction  of  B.  o.  40.  It  consisted  origi- 
nally of  three  concentric  rings  of  columns,  with 
the  centre  one  domed  above  the  altar,  and  must 
have  been  very  beautiful.  The  outer  line  of 
columns  was  carted  away  by  the  abbot  of  S. 
Pietro  to  adorn  his  church  of  that  name  at  the 


190  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

southeastern  end  of  the  town.  Early  Christians 
walled  up  the  second  ring  and  placed  a  Christian 
altar  where  the  pagan  one  had  been.  It  is  thus 
a  very  interesting  edifice.  When  I  rang  a  bell 
by  a  string  that  hung  out  of  the  door  of  the  ad- 
jacent sacristy,  and  was  admitted  through  it  into 
the  church,  I  saw  in  the  outer  wall  of  the  latter 
one  of  the  second  row  of  columns  protruding 
from  the  plaster.  Within,  a  graceful  sight  met 
the  eye :  the  ancient  inner  ring  of  columns 
circling  about  the  altar,  upholding  still  their 
Roman  dome,  from  which  the  light  showered 
softly  down  on  a  gilded  baldachino.  I  saw  the 
original  Roman  altar  still  there,  but  standing 
against  the  back  wall,  with  its  receptacles  for  the 
blood  of  the  beasts  sacrificed  upon  it.  The  sac- 
ristan exhibited  also,  among  numerous  curious 
relics  and  bones  and  skulls  of  early  saints,  the 
embalmed  body  of  a  canonized  child  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  remarkably  preserved,  which  seemed  to 
be  peacefully  sleeping,  with  rounded  limbs  and 
innocent  face. 

Upon  the  southern  slope  of  this  hill  of  S. 
Angelo,  amidst  gardens  once  occupied  by  dwell- 
ings, stands  the  large  modern  building  of  Peru- 
gia's university,  —  removed  there  from  its  old 
habitation  on  the  Piazza  del  Sopramura  during 
Napoleon's  reign.  This  institution  was  founded 
as  early  as  1307,  and  has  always  been  a  great 
pride  of  the  Perugians ;  the  Emperor  Charles  IV. 


PERUGIA  191 

gave  it  many  honors  and  perquisites,  and  Napo- 
leon himself  greatly  enhanced  them.  The  modern 
building  contains  a  remarkable  collection  of 
Etruscan  antiquities,  quite  extensive,  and  requir- 
ing considerable  time  to  go  over  observantly. 
I  found  it  a  great  pleasure,  after  visiting  the  old 
cities  of  Etruria  and  seeing  the  tombs  of  its 
people,  to  pick  out  in  this  collection  the  house- 
hold articles  and  other  things  of  their  daily  use. 
It  is  little  indeed  that  we  can  glean  of  the  life 
and  customs  of  that  extraordinary,  buried  race ; 
what  they  have  left  behind  them  is  only  the  con- 
tents of  their  sepulchres  and  articles  ploughed 
up  in  the  fields.  These,  however,  indicate  quite 
clearly  the  extent  of  their  civilization.  Here  were 
combs,  hair-pins,  stick-pins,  bronze  coins,  look- 
ing-glasses, pots  and  pans,  strainers,  lamps,  un- 
guent-bottles, medicine-bottles,  water- vases,  —  a 
host  of  things  showing  a  life  quite  like  the 
modern  Italian's,  in  fact  surpassing  the  aver- 
age countryman's  in  comfort  and  luxury.  Even 
safety-pins  are  found ;  and  we  used  to  think  them 
a  modern  invention.  There  are  many  articles  of 
adornment,  both  for  the  person  and  the  house. 
The  Etruscan  ladies  had  a  great  array  of  things 
for  the  toilet,  and  their  dwellings  were  evidently 
enriched  with  these  beautiful  vases,  bronze  statu- 
ary, and  knick-knacks.  They  wore  dresses  stiff 
enough  to  require  holding  down  at  the  bottom 
with  these  leaden  weights,  and  golden  earrings 


192  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  finger-rings  set  with  precious  stones.  The 
Etruscans  did  not  know  much  of  iron,  and  had 
to  make  their  common  articles  of  bronze ;  their 
implements  of  warfare,  which  I  saw,  were  mostly 
of  the  same  material — helmets,  corselets,  greaves, 
and  spear  and  javelin  points.  They  worked  also 
in  stone,  ivory,  terra  cotta,  clay,  glass,  coral,  and 
lead,  and  cut  precious  stones  most  exquisitely. 
This  last  accomplishment  was  the  best  of  their 
art,  although  I  saw  a  few  bronze  backs  of  mir- 
rors chased  with  remarkable  beauty  and  execu- 
tion. Like  the  rest  of  the  world,  they  got  their 
art  from  the  Greeks,  and  it  was  an  endeavor  to 
copy  the  latter  which  was  generally  not  success- 
ful. Their  sculpture  that  we  have  is  of  small 
bronze  images  —  mostly  primitive  —  and  of 
figures  and  bas-reliefs  upon  the  sarcophagi. 
There  are  many  fine  sarcophagi  in  this  collec- 
tion, although  the  majority  of  the  burial  recep- 
tacles were  for  the  ashes  only.  A  few  were  for 
the  bones,  after  the  flesh  had  been  removed  by 
heat  or  burial  in  earth.  Poor  Etruscans  had 
their  ashes  placed  in  a  simple  urn ;  the  moder- 
ately well  off  in  stone  or  terra  cotta  caskets  with 
carved  tops  and  a  design  or  Medusa-head  upon 
the  front ;  the  rich  occupied  sarcophagi  of  dif- 
ferent sizes,  with  portrait-figures  of  the  dead 
reclining  upon  the  lid,  and  dramatic  bas-reliefs 
upon  the  sides. 

The  intimate  connection  of  the  Etruscan  cities 


PERUGIA  193 

with  each  other,  and  with  not  only  Greece  but 
also  Africa  and  Asia,  is  shown  by  the  finding,  in 
this  far  inland  town  of  Perugia,  of  the  evidences 
of  their  endeavors  to  follow  Greek  art,  and  of 
their  representations  of  foreign  animals.  In  the 
cut  stones  especially  I  saw  many  Numidian  lions, 
and  Asiatic  lions  and  elephants.  Two  sarcophagi 
bear  reliefs  that  are  absolutely  Assyrian  work,  — 
in  designs,  execution,  and  ideas.  Either  some 
Etruscan  artist  had  been  to  Babylon,  or  some 
Babylonian  had  come  here.  This  connection  of 
the  Etruscan  cities  with  each  other  and  with  the 
Orient  shows  peaceful  times  in  Italy  in  their  days 
(sure  indication  of  advanced  civilization)  and  an 
extensive  commerce  upon  the  sea,  that  must  have 
been  protected  by  naval  supremacy.  It  is  quite 
certain,  then,  that  five  hundred  years  before  the 
Romans  thought  of  conquering  and  civilizing 
Italy  and  controlling  the  sea,  the  Etruscans  had 
done  that  very  thing, — at  least  between  the  Arno 
and  the  Tiber. 

In  another  section  of  this  museum,  devoted  to 
mediaeval  relics,  I  saw  the  authenticated  bones  of 
the  great  Braccio  Fortebraccio,  lying  in  a  heap 
with  the  skull  on  top  in  a  little  case  with  a  glass 
cover.  Strange  resting-place  for  the  remains  of 
Perugia's  greatest  citizen  !  Here  also  is  kept  a 
beautiful  bishop's  vestment,  of  wonderful  work- 
ing, that  was  worn  by  Perugia's  patron  saint 
Ercolano  over  thirteen  hundred  years  ago.  As 


194  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

her  bishop,  he  defended  the  city  against  the  Gothic 
Totila  in  that  memorable  (or  mythical)  siege,  at 
the  terrible  end  of  which  he  was  tortured  and 
beheaded  by  the  enemy. 

The  Church  of  S.  Ercolano  lies  just  under  the 
old  Etruscan  wall  at  the  southeast  corner  of  the 
city,  reached  by  a  stairway-street  running  down 
from  the  Via  Baglioni.  The  church  is  a  most 
ancient  and  curious  one  without,  shaped  like  a 
tall  octagonal  drum,  standing  with  its  back  against 
the  Etruscan  wall  and  its  dome  reaching  to  the 
level  of  the  lofty  parapet.  This  was  one  of  the 
two  structures  that  Paolo  Farnese  preserved  when 
he  pulled  down  the  Baglioni  strongholds  above, 
and  ten  churches  and  four  hundred  houses,  to 
make  room  for  his  terrible  fortress.  The  other 
was  the  Etruscan  city  gate  at  this  angle,  called 
Porta  Marzia,  which  was  so  fine  that  Augustus 
also  had  preserved  it.  The  Farnese's  architect 
built  it  into  the  wall  of  the  fortress,  where  it 
stands  to-day,  just  under  the  parapet  of  the  park 
before  the  Prefettura,  looking  rather  queer  as  a 
bas-relief  instead  of  an  archway.  The  nobly 
proportioned  and  moulded  arch  is  there,  sur- 
mounted by  the  ancient  elaborate  entablature. 

Two  large  pilasters  beside  the  arch  and  four 
graceful  columns  on  its  top  uphold  the  cornice ; 
and  in  the  space  between  these  are  mutilated 
statues  added  by  the  Romans,  who  also  inscribed 
their  "  Augusta  Perusia."  There  is  a  small  door- 


PERUGIA  195 

way  below,  through  which  one  can  enter  the  net- 
work of  old  streets  and  corridors  in  the  sub- 
structure of  the  Baglioni  castles,  above  which 
the  Farnese  built  his  Bastille,  and  upon  which 
the  little  park  rests  to-day. 

There  is  nothing  especially  interesting  in  the 
interior  of  S.  Ercolano,  beyond  its  curious  shape. 
But  there  are  two  interesting  church  interiors 
still  in  Perugia,  despite  the  spoliations  for  the 
art  gallery.  One  is  that  of  S.  Pietro,  to  the  south- 
east ;  the  other  is  that  of  the  Duomo.  The  latter 
edifice  has  also  had  to  survive  the  intestinal 
warfare  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  it  was  often 
besieged  and  much  battered  about ;  but  the  in- 
terior, in  contrast  to  the  desolate  worn  exterior, 
is  yet  warm  and  golden  with  a  subdued  rich  light 
from  its  high  gothic  windows.  It  was  built  in 
gothic  times  —  the  fourteenth  century  —  and  the 
lofty  columns  of  brick  and  stucco  have  capitals 
of  that  style.  The  aisles  which  they  separate 
from  the  nave  are  of  the  same  height  as  the  latter, 
producing  a  unique  effect;  and  on  the  third 
column  to  the  right  is  a  miracle-picture,  wrought 
by  unknown  early  hands,  which  is  a  work  of  art. 
If  one  can  penetrate  the  crowd  of  worshipers 
always  kneeling  before  its  countless  blazing 
candles,  there  can  be  seen  in  a  long,  narrow,  up- 
right frame  the  painting  of  a  Madonna,  —  a 
young  girl  of  beautiful,  innocent  countenance, 
with  a  golden  crown  on  her  forehead,  holding 
up  both  hands  as  if  to  bless. 


196  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

There  is  here  a  glowing,  passionate  Descent 
from  the  Cross,  by  one  of  the  Umbrian  school 
in  its  slow  decadence  after  Perugino,  Baroccio  of 
Urbino  ;  a  fine  colored  window  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  some  remarkable  choir  stalls.  The 
choir  stalls  of  all  the  Perugian  churches  are  won- 
ders of  art ;  the  Umbrian  masters  devoted  much 
attention  to  their  carving.  Perugino  designed 
those  in  S.  Agostino,  and  Raphael  himself  those 
in  S.  Pietro.  Each  stall  is  always  of  individual 
pattern,  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  time  that 
could  be  spent  over  them.  In  the  cathedral  there 
is  finally  Perugia's  precious  Signorelli,  —  a  Ma- 
donna and  Saints  hung  in  the  winter  choir.  To 
me  it  was  of  great  interest  as  exhibiting  clearly 
the  difference  between  the  Florentine  and  Um- 
brian schools  at  that  epoch ;  it  was  the  invasion 
by  a  Florentine  master,  whose  inherited  special- 
ties were  dramatic  action  and  realistic  drawing,  of 
the  Umbrian  province  of  quiet,  pietistic  beauty  ; 
and  the  result,  hung  in  one  of  Umbria's  chief 
churches,  is  most  curious.  Signorelli  could  not 
drop  his  muscular  activity  and  realism  ;  all  is 
action  :  —  one  saint  is  singing  vehemently,  an- 
other is  energetically  wringing  his  hands,  a  third 
is  even  reading  a  book  with  violence ;  an  angel 
below  is  doubled  up  with  playing  a  lute,  and  the 
Madonna  herself  is  writhing  in  her  seat.  It  is 
not  at  all  beautiful ;  but  it  is  thoroughly  well 
executed,  and  most  interesting. 


PERUGIA  197 

There  is  another  miracle-working  object  in  the 
Duomo,  —  the  alleged  wedding-ring  of  the  Vir- 
gin, brought  here  by  theft  from  Chiusi  in  1472. 
This  is  kept  in  a  silver  casket  in  a  chapel,  in- 
closed in  a  dozen  successive  boxes  of  wood  and 
iron,  locked  by  fifteen  or  twenty  different  locks, 
the  keys  to  which  are  held  and  guarded  by  fif- 
teen or  twenty  different  persons.  They  exercise 
their  high  office  by  gathering  together  five  times 
a  year,  with  strong  men  to  lift  the  iron  chests, 
to  bring  the  little  ring  to  light  of  day.  It  is 
said  to  hold  a  stone  that  is  a  kind  of  transparent 
agate,  reflecting  many  changing  colors.  Curious 
stories  are  told  of  the  wonders  and  miracles  it 
has  wrought. 

But  the  interior  of  S.  Pietro  is,  after  all,  the 
finest.  I  remember  walking  out  to  see  this  church 
one  lovely  afternoon,  descending  to  quaint  S. 
Ercolano  from  the  Via  Baglioni,  and  following 
the  long,  comparatively  straight  street  that  leads 
to  the  southeast  on  the  top  of  the  ridge.  In 
shape  this  quarter  is  just  like  the  Borgo  S.  An- 
gelo,  but  longer,  and  the  modern  stores  and 
dwellings  are  more  substantial.  The  street  is 
the  road  that  runs  to  Rome;  by  it  all  commerce 
with  that  city  and  the  south  used  to  flow,  and 
I  thought  of  how  many  times  the  Popes  had 
come  up  it  in  a  pageant  of  red  cardinals  and  glit- 
tering guards.  Here  also  the  Swiss  mercenaries 
of  Pius  IX.  forced  their  entrance  in  1859,  butch- 


198  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

ering  the  inhabitants  with  frightful  savagery  as 
they  proceeded.  What  a  short  time  ago  that 
was !  I  am  thankful  for  the  peace  of  united 
Italy. 

The  Church  of  S.  Domenico  is  first  passed  on 
the  left,  another  great  unfinished  brick  edifice, 
constructed  in  the  fifteenth  century,  fallen  down 
and  rebuilt  several  times  since.  I  stopped  to  see 
the  interior,  and  found  a  vast,  barn-like  hall,  en- 
riched by  the  rose  light  of  a  great  gothic  window 
in  the  apse,  —  the  largest  in  Italy.  I  thought  of 
the  whole  regiment  of  Napoleon's  soldiers  quar- 
tered here  in  his  day,  and  did  not  wonder  at  its 
vacancy.  But  in  the  left  transept  there  is  still  a 
treasure,  the  tomb  of  Pope  Benedict  XI.,  exe- 
cuted by  Giovanni  Pisano,  the  son  of  Niccolo. 
Two  exquisite  spiral  columns  uphold  a  canopy 
above  the  reclining  figure  of  the  dead  prelate, 
which  two  little  angels  disclose  by  drawing  back 
the  curtains,  —  perhaps  the  first  instance  of  this 
familiar  design.  The  choir  stalls,  of  course,  are 
fine,  in  this  case  of  intarsia  work.  And  in  a 
chapel  to  the  right  I  observed  some  uninteresting 
terra  cotta  work  by  the  Duccio  who  made  so  beau- 
tiful a  fagade  for  S.  Bernardino.  The  best  artists 
waver  in  their  quality. 

An  instance  of  Duccio's  good  work  is  found 
again  in  the  city  gate  towards  the  end  of  this  street, 
which  he  decorated  in  1473  with  a  rich  renaissance 
facade,  of  purest  style  and  proportions.  It  is  a 


PERUGIA  199 

joy  to  look  at  it.  Just  beyond  is  the  church  of 
S.  Pietro,  with  its  monastery.  I  anticipated  some- 
thing interesting  here,  for  the  church  was  built 
in  the  tenth  century,  was  the  original  cathe- 
dral of  the  city,  was  remarkably  adorned  with 
works  of  art  during  the  Renaissance,  and,  in 
reward  for  its  priests  having  fought  with  the 
people  against  the  Pope's  Swiss  in  1859,  was 
left  intact  by  the  government  of  United  Italy, 
with  all  its  treasures.  Even  this  does  not  prepare 
one  for  the  beauty  of  it.  On  first  entering  I  saw 
in  dim,  warm  light  the  nave  stretching  away  with 
graceful  marble  columns  on  each  side,  carrying 
round  arches  prettily  frescoed ;  above,  a  gilded, 
heavily  coffered  ceiling,  and  on  both  sides,  on  the 
triumphal  arch  and  all  the  walls  of  the  choir, 
great  paintings,  whose  rich  tones  glowed  and 
glistened  in  the  dusk.  The  columns  are  those 
taken  from  S.  Angelo.  The  paintings  of  the 
nave  and  choir  are  not  great  in  the  sense  of 
quality,  but  they  give  to  the  whole  edifice  a 
glorious  sense  of  color.  And  in  the  walls  of  the 
aisles,  and  in  the  chapels,  this  is  heightened  by 
works  of  genius,  whose  beautiful  lines  of  Ma- 
donnas and  Saints  coruscate  tenderly  in  the  half- 
light.  Here  are  canvases  of  Sassoferrato,  Ca- 
ravaggio,  Buonfigli,  Eusebio  di  San  Giorgio, 
Vasari,  and  Guido  Reni.  There,  is  a  bas-relief  by 
Overbeck ;  here,  a  marble  altar  with  reliefs  by 
Mino  da  Fiesole.  And  under  the  triumphal  arch 


200  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

is  a  pulpit  on  each -side,  carved  with  exquisite 
designs  on  a  golden  ground. 

The  high  altar  formerly  held  the  wondrous  As- 
sumption of  Perugino,  the  only  treasure  of  the 
church  taken  by  Napoleon,  but  its  greatest ; 
and  the  sacristan  exhibits  five  small  half  figures 
of  saints  that  the  monks  managed  to  save  from 
this  painting,  by  cutting  them  from  the  frames. 
The  sweet-faced  saints  seem  to  look  mournfully 
from  their  canvases,  inconsolable  for  the  loss  of 
their  associates.  They  are  good  examples  of  Pe- 
rugino's  genius  in  drawing  ideal  faces  that  yet 
have  character  and  live  and  breathe.  But  the 
choir  stalls  ascribed  to  Raphael  are  the  loveliest 
things  in  the  church.  They  come  upon  one  with 
a  power  of  beauty  and  execution  that  takes  the 
breath  away,  and  grips  the  mind  with  a  sense  of 
marvelous  genius.  Who  but  Raphael  could  have 
drawn  these  wonderful  traceries  that  spread 
themselves  all  over  the  arms  and  backs  of  the 
stalls  and  the  frieze  above,  curving  into  a  thou- 
sand graceful  fancies  without  a  single  repeti- 
tion. Quaint  masks  and  faces,  lovely  flowers  and 
vases,  unknown  animals,  and  figures  half  man 
half  beast,  look  out  from  the  maze  of  broid- 
ery. And  on  the  tops  of  the  arms  of  the  lower 
row  of  seats  sit  life-like  creatures  that  send  a 
shiver  through  the  observer  in  the  shades  of 
eventide :  beasts  that  the  haze  of  mythology  only 
could  have  known,  demoniacally  human  in  conn- 


CHOIR  STALLS,  S.   PIETRO  —  PERUGIA 


PERUGIA  201 

tenance  or  body  or  expression,  that  crouch  and 
crawl  and  quiver.  One  steps  away  in  fear  un- 
consciously, and  emerges  with  relief  through  the 
doors  that  the  sacristan  throws  open  upon  a 
little  balcony  behind  the  apse.  Here  a  beautiful 
view  is  spread  before  one,  —  the  valley  of  the 
Tiber  in  all  its  verdure  of  fields  and  orchards  close 
below,  and  Assisi  off  beyond,  gleaming  on  her 
mountain  side.  And  the  sacristan  directs  atten- 
tion to  the  doors  themselves,  for  they  are  of  very 
finest  intarsia,  showing  not  merely  human  fig- 
ures in  action  upon  an  architectural  background, 
but  shading  and  perspective  and  atmosphere, 
by  the  graining  of  the  wood.  Not  only  a  labor 
of  genius,  but  a  labor  of  Hercules.  Damiano  da 
Bergamo  executed  these  doors,  and  his  brother 
Stefano  the  choir  stalls,  about  1535 ;  and  their 
names  should  be  writ  higher  in  the  temple  of 
Fame. 

There  is  another  old  church  in  Perugia  which 
I  visited  with  pleasure,  for  the  sake  of  its  rose 
window  in  the  fagade,  and  its  monastery  court. 
This  is  S.  Giuliana,  located  on  the  Piazza  d'  Armi 
at  the  apex  of  the  semicircular  borgo  that  ex- 
tends shortly  to  the  south  below  the  height 
of  the  Prefettura.  The  window  is  of  great  size 
and  beautiful  detail ;  the  cloisters  are  now  occu- 
pied by  the  government  as  a  military  hospital, 
but  not  at  all  defaced.  The  pretty  garden  of 
the  monks  in  the  centre  still  flourishes.  Around 


202  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

it  extend  the  noble  gothic  arches,  upon  heavy 
pillars  with  varied  gothic  capitals;  and  above 
are  round  arches  in  relief,  each  holding  three 
little  pointed  windows  separated  by  graceful 
slender  columns  in  sets  of  two,  and  a  quatre- 
foil  opening  hi  the  lunette.  The  whole  is  a  de- 
lightful, harmonious  rendering  of  the  Gothic  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  with  a  perfect  combination 
of  power  and  airiness. 

The  little  ancient  church  of  S.  Costanzo  stands 
on  the  hillside  below  S.  Pietro.  This  saint  is  the 
local  patron  of  lovers ;  and  when  I  went  out 
there  on  his  feast  day  to  see  the  curious  doorway 
of  the  church,  the  floor  was  strewn  with  rushes, 
and  a  great  many  unlinked  youthful  couples 
whispered  at  the  entrance  and  blushed  upon  the 
parapet.  The  girls  were  all  pretty.  Beauty  is 
very  common  in  the  women  of  Perugia.  Not  so 
beautiful  is  the  female  image  carved  upon  the 
quaint  marble  doorway  of  S.  Costanzo ;  she  looks 
like  a  Hindu  goddess,  but  is  simply  a  Byzantine 
Madonna  of  the  dark  ages. 

The  mass  performed  at  the  festa  was  not  as 
picturesque  and  impressive  as  the  celebration 
which  I  saw  later  at  the  cathedral,  of  the  festival 
of  Corpus  Christi.  This  is  an  important  day  in 
Perugia ;  the  whole  population  were  out  in  gala 
attire.  In  best  attire  also  were  all  the  priests  and 
functionaries  of  the  Duomo,  whose  richly  em- 
broidered and  golden  chasubles  glistened  bril- 


PERUGIA  203 

liantly  in  the  light  of  a  thousand  candles.  The 
bishop  himself,  with  mitre  and  crosier,  performed 
the  high  mass,  surrounded  by  a  glowing  group  of 
attendant  priests.  As  I  looked  over  the  heads 
of  the  kneeling  hundreds  I  thought  of  the  many 
times  that  the  then  Pope,  Leo  XIII.,  had  gone 
through  this  ceremony  in  the  thirty  years  of  his 
bishopric  here.  Toward  the  end  of  it  a  great 
procession  wound  round  the  aisles  of  the  Duomo, 
choir  boys,  seminarists,  chapter-members,  and 
priests,  bearing  hundreds  of  candles  and  ban- 
ners, and  crosses  of  gold  and  jewels,  —  with  the 
bishop  carrying  the  consecrated  host  under  a  bal- 
dachino.  The  rolling  of  the  organ,  the  sonorous 
chanting,  the  dusk  through  which  gleamed  the 
moving  lights,  and  their  refraction  from  golden 
crosses  and  vestments,  made  a  spectacle  never  to 
be  forgotten. 

That  same  afternoon  the  festa  was  celebrated 
in  the  Corso  by  a  carnival  of  flowers.  A  hundred 
carriages,  filled  and  decorated  with  flowers,  pulled 
by  fine  horses  with  flashing  harness,  paraded  from 
S.  Pietro  to  the  Cathedral  and  the  Corso ;  and 
from  stands  there  erected,  and  from  windows  and 
sidewalks,  a  shower  of  roses  and  bouquets  fell 
upon  the  occupants  of  the  vehicles.  Everything 
was  joyous,  —  from  the  people  who  laughed  and 
waved  ribbons  and  exchanged  a  fire  of  flowers, 
to  the  genial  sun  that  glowed  balmily  in  a  deep 
blue  sky.  It  was  the  more  interesting  because 


204  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

it  was  not  prepared  for  the  benefit  of  visitors, 
as  at  Nice,  but  was  a  natural  festa  of  the  in- 
habitants. 

About  this  time  I  went  down  to  the  Tiber  one 
afternoon,  to  see  the  celebrated  Etruscan  tomb  of 
the  Vohramii,  driving  by  a  road  that  descended 
the  eastern  hillside,  through  beautiful  views  over 
the  rolling  vineyarded  spurs  of  the  mountain, 
and  crossed  the  river  twice  by  ancient  "  camel- 
back  "  bridges.  Here  the  Tiber  seemed  actually 
to  have  lost  some  of  its  mud,  and  a  greenish 
hue  was  visible  under  the  overhanging  willows 
that  marked  its  winding  course.  The  tomb, 
which  lies  just  at  the  foot  of  Perugia's  moun- 
tain, adjacent  to  the  railway  to  Assisi,  was  dis- 
covered in  1840  by  a  caving-in  while  making 
the  new  roadway  there.  A  modern  structure 
covers  the  entrance,  and  we  descended  a  long, 
steep  flight  of  modern  steps  to  reach  the  sep- 
pulchre.  There  is  a  vestibule,  richly  adorned  with 
bas-reliefs  above>  and  seven  chambers  opening 
out  of  it;  only  the  principal  chamber,  that  at 
the  end,  is  finished.  Here  we  saw  by  lamp-light 
the  sarcophagi  of  the  Etruscan  family  of  the 
Volumnii,  left  as  they  were  found.  Remarkable 
portrait-figures  and  reliefs  adorned  them,  of 
terra  cotta.  The  faces  were  those  of  men  and 
women  of  high  intelligence  and  refinement.  They 
must  have  been  wealthy,  to  cut  this  tomb  out  of 
the  tufa  so  far  underground ;  and  their  import- 


PERUGIA  205 

ance  must  have  continued  for  centuries,  as  evi- 
denced by  the  finding  of  one  marble  cinerary 
casket  shaped  like  a  Roman  temple,  with  Roman 
lettering  upon  it,  which  must  have  been  exe- 
cuted long  after  the  others.  We  saw  collected 
here,  also,  a  great  many  sarcophagi  of  other 
families,  all  discovered  within  a  radius  of  half 
a  mile.  On  one  of  them  is  probably  the  ear- 
liest representation  of  the  sea-serpent,  which  a 
winged  goddess  is  driving.  It  all  enhanced  fur- 
ther my  opinion  as  to  the  high  quality  of  the 
Etruscan  civilization. 

In  Perugia  itself  the  greatest  enjoyment  is, 
after  all,  not  in  the  interiors  and  paintings,  — 
lovely  as  they  are,  —  but  in  walking  about  the 
mediaeval  streets  and  gazing  from  the  parapets  at 
the  view.  Just  west  of  the  park  and  the  hotel, 
upon  the  slope  downward  from  the  hill-top,  is  a 
little  quarter  of  the  city  which  is  the  most  ancient 
and  picturesque  of  all.  Here  all  is  Etruscan  and 
Roman  masonry,  —  perhaps  the  masons  of  the 
Middle  Ages  rebuilt  with  the  ancient  stones, — 
and  the  dark  walls,  furrowed  by  the  centuries, 
rise  closely  above  the  winding  ways.  Little 
court-yards,  towers,  arches  carrying  rooms  and 
corridors,  tunnels,  barred  windows,  and  streets 
that  mount  in  curving  stairs  through  arching 
gloom  and  wells  of  light,  are  found  on  every 
side.  Here  is  the  Porta  Eburnea,  —  which  was 
built  by  the  Etruscans,  —  well  within  the  limits 


206  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  the  mediaeval  city.  It  is  ponderous,  and 
pointed,  like  the  four  or  five  other  Etruscan  gates 
still  standing ;  and  above  it  projects  on  each  side 
a  picturesque  brick  parapet  upon  stone  consoles, 
added  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Over  the  parapets 
hang  the  leaves  and  flowers  of  a  garden. 

From  a  walk  in  such  surroundings  it  was  a 
pleasant  contrast  to  return  to  the  spacious  Corso, 
and  to  the  piazza  at  its  southern  end.  After  a 
stroll  in  any  quarter  of  the  city,  or  a  visit  to  the 
churches,  or  an  hour  with  the  early  masters,  it 
was  most  pleasing  of  all  to  return  to  this  park 
before  the  hotel.  For  here  is  the  view  from  Peru- 
gia's ramparts  over  the  whole  land  that  she 
owned  and  swayed,  —  over  the  whole  of  beauti- 
ful, glorious  Umbria.  It  is  these  vales  far  below, 
rich  with  the  light  green  of  growing  wheat  and 
the  darker  green  of  tufted  foliage,  sprinkled  with 
the  white  walls  of  villas  and  the  campaniles  of 
ancient  churches,  and  these  rounded  mountains 
curving  the  horizon,  upholding  on  their  tops  the 
towers  of  medieval  towns,  and  bearing  on  their 
slopes  the  walls  of  historical  cities,  that  he  who 
has  gone  away,  when  he  thinks  of  Perugia,  calls 
to  mind  with  longing  and  regret.  Ah,  the  sun- 
rises over  this  panorama,  when  the  first  bright 
shafts  of  light  stream  from  the  eastern  mountain 
peaks  upon  the  sea-like  mist  that  occupies  the 
plain,  and  lift  it  to  disclose  the  treasury  below ! 
And  the  sunsets,  —  most  beautiful  of  all !  Then 


PORTA  EBURNEA,  BUILT  BY  THE  ETRUSCANS  — PERUGIA 


PERUGIA  207 

the  sinking  orb  showers  its  golden  rays  upon  the 
walls  and  campaniles  of  S.  Giuliano,  S.  Domenico, 
and  S.  Pietro,  gilding  them,  till  they  glow  like 
brazen  torches  over  the  brown  house-tops  below ; 
the  rays  traverse  the  plain,  penetrate  the  foliage 
of  vale  and  rolling  hill,  and  pick  out  every  house 
and  church  and  village  with  scintillating  points, 
till  it  sparkles  like  green  velvet  set  with  jewels ; 
they  fall  upon  the  mountain  slopes  beyond, 
shimmering  on  pink  Assisi  and  yellow  Spello 
and  cone-like  Trevi  on  its  pinnacle  ;  they  burnish 
the  ancient  battlements  of  Bettona  and  Deruta ; 
and  they  mount  to  the  far-off  crests  where  glisten 
Todi  and  Montefalco,  holding  against  a  deep 
blue  sky  their  clustered  walls  and  domes  and 
towers.  There  they  glow,  wonderful  old  towns 
of  Etruria,  Rome,  and  Umbria,  circled  by  their 
mediaeval  battlements,  guarding  in  their  breasts 
their  treasures  of  the  Renaissance,  holding  up 
their  beacon-lights  of  homage  to  Perugia,  the 
mistress,  upon  her  citadel. 


CHAPTER  IX 

FROM   LAKE   THRASYMENE   TO    SAN    QUIRIOO 

ONE  cannot  see  Lake  Thrasymene  from  Perugia 
because  the  mountains  that  hem  it  in  upon  the 
north,  east,  and  south  sides  intervene.  It  was  in 
the  desire  to  look  over  its  waters,  and  see  the 
spot  where  Hannibal  trapped  the  Roman  army 
two  thousand  years  ago,  that  I  at  last  left  Peru- 
gia. The  regret  was  poignant,  and  as  the  train 
sped  westward  over  the  plain  already  I  wished 
that  I  were  back  with  those  noble  buildings 
towering  a  thousand  feet  above.  Soon  they  were 
hid  from  sight  by  the  road  turning  northwest- 
ward between  two  long  hills.  This  was  the  roll- 
ing country  upon  the  northern  verge  of  the 
Umbrian  plain.  It  was  fertile  with  vineyards 
and  wheat  fields,  and  beautiful  with  wild  flowers 
scattered  densely  along  the  track  and  over  the 
meadows.  Ancient  castles  lifted  their  ruined 
heads  upon  the  hill-tops,  in  solitude,  or  surmount- 
ing mediaeval  villages.  We  passed  the  once  con- 
siderable town  of  Magione,  with  a  massive  square 
fortress  of  the  period  of  Fortebraccio  and  the 
condottieri ;  then  soon  pierced  by  a  tunnel  the 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  209 

ridge  dividing  Thrasymene  from  Magione's  val- 
ley, and  emerged  upon  the  shore  of  the  lake. 
The  first  view  was  disappointing,  because  it 
ranged  westward  over  the  pale  expanse  of  water 
to  the  flat  coast  of  the  Valle  di  Chiana  beyond. 
As  we  continued  along  the  shore,  however,  and 
turned  upon  the  northern  bank,  soon  the  moun- 
tains to  south  and  west  loomed  up  over  the 
green  surface,  giving  it  beauty  and  dignity.  We 
left  the  train  at  Passignano  (I  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  be  accompanied  on  this  trip  by  an  amiable 
friend),  and  engaged  a  row-boat  to  transport  us 
to  Isola  Maggiore.  Three  islands  mirror  in  the 
water  their  masses  of  large  trees,  —  Polvese,  to 
the  southeast,  lifting  the  tower  of  its  old  castle, 
and  Maggiore  and  Minore  toward  the  north  of  the 
lake,  not  far  from  Passignano.  Minore  is  small 
and  uninhabited ;  Maggiore  is  the  largest  island, 
having  a  considerable  village  and  an  ancient 
monastery  recently  converted  into  a  castellated 
country  home.  All  three  islands  were  plainly 
visible,  of  course,  from  Passignano,  for  the  lake 
is  but  ten  miles  in  diameter;  but  Maggiore's 
village  was  fortunately  hidden  on  its  southern 
shore,  leaving  to  view  only  the  great  convent- 
castle  on  a  hill  at  the  eastern  angle,  embosomed 
in  trees,  through  which  its  white  walls  shone  and 
over  which  it  raised  machicolated  parapets  and 
towers.  This  is  accounted  in  picturesqueness 
and  beauty  of  situation  one  of  the  finest  country 


210  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

homes  of  the  Italian  nobility ;  which  augmented 
our  desire  to  visit  it.  The  three  ragged  boat- 
men who  propelled  our  flat-bottomed  craft  said 
that  "  the  marchese "  was  now  in  Rome ;  that 
he  came  here  only  in  September  and  October. 

We  had  at  this  time  a  good  view  backward 
of  the  little  town  of  Passignano,  crowded  closely 
upon  a  hill  whose  sloping  face  jutted  some  way 
into  the  lake.  Above  the  jumble  of  old,  brown 
tiled  roofs  and  gray  fagades  rose  several  towers, 
and  behind  them  all  a  huge  mediaeval  wall  that  girt 
the  town  from  shore  to  shore,  rising  into  tremen- 
dous battlemented  keeps.  We  saw  that  this  hill 
of  Passignano  was  the  eastern  confine  of  a  defile 
that  extended  for  some  five  miles  along  the 
northern  shore  between  the  mountains  and  the 
water ;  here  was  the  scene  of  the  battle  of  Han- 
nibal and  the  Romans,  which  we  were  to  visit 
later. 

Quite  near  now  was  the  convent-castle  in  its 
masses  of  trees,  thrusting  a  terrace  before  it  on 
the  slope,  over  whose  high  parapeted  sides  rose 
ilexes  and  cypresses ;  and  below  that  was  a  flat 
point  of  land  with  round  towers  and  beautiful 
willows.  It  was  an  ideal  scene,  —  one  of  those 
bits  of  loveliness  to  be  ever  treasured  in  the 
memory.  There  was  no  trace  of  the  convent  left 
on  the  building  now  ;  square  machicolated  towers 
marked  its  angles,  crenelations  topped  its  grace- 
ful walls  and  massive  keep.  On  the  hillside 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  211 

behind  an  olive  grove  climbed  to  the  sky.  We 
landed  in  a  little  cove  behind  the  point,  where 
were  boat-houses  containing  naphtha  launches  and 
a  good-sized  steamer  used  by  the  marchese  and 
his  guests  in  cruising  about  the  lake.  Thence 
we  climbed  to  the  terrace  and  were  conducted 
through  its  umbrageous  walks  and  beds  of  irises, 
cyclamen,  pansies,  lilies,  orchis,  and  roses ;  beau- 
tiful vistas  opened  across  the  blue  lake  to  bluer 
mountains  beyond.  We  traversed  the  courts  and 
halls  of  the  building,  coming  out  on  balconies 
with  commanding  views  above  the  trees.  Then 
we  strolled  on  to  the  southern  shore  of  the  is- 
land by  a  path  from  the  castle  lined  with  tall 
cypresses.  Here  was  a  crumbling  village  that  un- 
doubtedly had  stood  from  the  days  of  Hannibal, 
to  judge  by  the  ancient  walls ;  there  was  surely 
a  population  living  here  then,  by  fishing,  as  now. 
Nets  were  everywhere  spread  over  the  sand  and 
rocks  to  dry.  We  reentered  our  boat,  which  had 
come  around  to  meet  us,  and  started  back  for 
the  mainland,  rounding  the  island  on  the  west  and 
making  for  the  coast  at  a  point  some  miles  distant 
from  Passignano.  As  we  approached  we  saw  the 
lay  of  the  battlefield  distinctly.  The  defile  be- 
tween the  mountains  and  the  lake  is  not  strictly 
a  defile,  for  it  widens  out  to  considerable  width ; 
nevertheless,  it  is  completely  locked  in,  stopped 
at  the  eastern  end  by  the  hill  of  Passignano  and 
at  the  western  end  by  the  hill  of  Borghetto.  In 


212  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  centre  there  projects  a  spur  from  the  moun- 
tains, upon  which  we  saw  the  mediaeval  village  of 
Tuoro.  On  this  spur  Hannibal,  marching  from 
his  devastation  of  the  rich  valley  of  the  Arno  in 
June,  B.  c.  217,  and  followed  by  the  Roman  con- 
sul Flaminius,  posted  the  main  body  of  his  army 
in  the  night,  leaving  a  force  of  cavalry  to  ambush 
the  entrance  to  the  defile  at  Borghetto  and 
another  force  of  infantry  to  block  the  exit  over 
the  hill  of  Passignano.  In  the  early  morning, 
when  a  mist  covered  the  lowlands  (as  it  generally 
does),  Flaminius  entered  the  vale.  Soon  his  army 
was  extended  in  long  marching  order  over  its 
whole  length,  the  van  reaching  Passignano  about 
the  time  that  the  rear  left  Borghetto.  Flaminius 
was  hurrying  on  without  thought  of  ambuscade, 
believing  that  Hannibal  was  proceeding  directly 
to  Rome.  Then  the  main  body  of  the  Carthagi- 
nians and  Gauls  suddenly  hurled  themselves  from 
the  hill  of  Tuoro  upon  the  centre  of  the  Roman 
marching  column,  broke  it  to  pieces,  and  hurled 
back  the  pieces  in  confusion  upon  the  van  and 
the  rear.  From  Borghetto  the  terrible  Numidian 
cavalry  plunged  into  the  rear  before  it  could  form 
in  battle  array.  The  Romans,  turned  fugitive, 
could  not  escape  by  the  blocked  entrance  at 
Borghetto,  and  such  as  were  not  cut  down  were 
thrust  into  the  lake  and  drowned.  Their  van- 
guard alone,  six  thousand  strong,  which  was  al- 
ready mounting  the  hill  of  Passignano  when  the 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  213 

battle  burst,  cut  tbeir  way  through  the  Africans 
opposing  and  made  off.  The  remainder  of  the 
Roman  army,  15,000  in  number,  including 
Flaminius  himself,  perished ;  and  next  day  the 
vanguard,  followed  closely  by  Hannibal,  sur- 
rendered. It  was  a  terrible  shock  to  Roman 
supremacy  in  Italy  ;  for  the  first  time  the  proud 
city  by  the  Tiber  trembled  on  its  seven  hills. 

I  thought,  as  I  looked  over  the  scene  so  peace- 
ful to-day  in  the  bright  sunlight,  of  what  fright- 
ful sounds  of  cries  and  savage  blows  must  have 
come  out  of  the  mist  across  this  water  on  that 
eventful  morning,  —  what  a  ringing  of  steel  on 
steel,  what  a  snorting  of  steeds  and  trampling  of 
elephants,  what  a  pandemonium  of  shouts  and 
death-cries !  And  the  many  thousands  that  died 
reddened  with  their  blood  this  little  stream  that 
to-day  flows  so  gently  down  between  the  rows  of 
giant  oak  trees.  So  the  peasants  called  it  Sangui- 
netto ;  and  it  still  bears  the  name. 

As  the  fishermen  pulled  us  back  to  Passignano, 
each  leaning  on  a  great,  heavy  oar,  ten  feet  in 
length,  fastened  to  its  thole-pin  by  a  piece  of 
rope,  one  of  them  related  with  pride  how  he  had 
recently  found  a  Roman  sword  in  the  soil  of  the 
battlefield,  and  sold  it  for  twenty  francs,  which 
was  almost  a  fortune.  In  the  train  which  soon 
came  in  we  went  over  the  field  again  at  a  slow 
pace,  crossing  the  Sanguinetto  with  its  beautiful 
oaks,  and  stopping  a  minute  at  Tuoro,  where  the 


214  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

onset  was  made.  Then  the  train  left  the  defile  at 
Borghetto,  and  the  Valle  di  Chiana  stretched  be- 
fore us :  a  vast  plain,  level  as  a  billiard  table, 
reaching  from  Arezzo  on  the  north  to  Chiusi  on 
the  south,  having  a  width  of  ten  to  fifteen  miles. 
Lake  Thrasymene  once  filled  this  whole  expanse, 
between  the  encompassing  mountains  on  which 
sit  Cortona  to  the  east  and  Montepulciano  to  the 
west.  The  waters  gradually  slipped  away,  how- 
ever, to  their  present  basin,  —  which  is  but  little 
lower,  —  and  linger  in  the  shallow  lakes  of  Chiusi 
and  Montepulciano  at  the  southern  end.  As  I 
gazed  over  the  expanse  of  plain,  luxuriant  with 
growing  cereals  and  vineyards,  I  recollected  that 
this  cultivation  was  quite  modern.  The  Romans 
did  not  drain  this  basin,  as  they  did  the  Umbrian 
plain,  —  with  such  vast  labor,  —  and  it  remained 
practically  a  swamp  till  fifty  years  ago. 

After  a  change  of  cars  at  the  junction  of 
Terontola  we  proceeded  along  the  eastern  edge 
of  the  plain  to  Cortona,  which  soon  appeared 
sitting  high  upon  a  mountain  to  the  right.  We 
climbed  into  a  rickety  little  open  diligence  — 
the  only  vehicle  at  hand  —  and  mounted  to  the 
town  by  many  loops  on  the  hillside.  The  western 
sun  struck  fairly  upon  the  encircling  walls  of  the 
city,  above  which  rose  a  mass  of  ancient  brown 
houses  in  the  centre,  with  light,  modern  fayades 
at  the  wings.  I  looked  for  modernity  henceforth  ; 
for  now  we  were  in  Tuscany.  And  Tuscany  has 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  215 

kept  well  in  advance  of  Umbria,  as  Umbria  has 
of  Etruria,  ever  since  Niccolo  Pisano  bethought 
him  of  reviving  the  beautiful.  Yet  Cortona  is 
very  old.  She  was  an  important  Etruscan  city, 
one  of  the  celebrated  twelve  capitals,  and  her 
Etruscan  walls  still  linger  in  the  substructure  of 
the  present  ones.  Under  Rome  she  retained  her 
importance,  and  in  the  dark  ages  her  impreg- 
nable position  enhanced  it.  Modern  times  only 
have  doomed  Cortona  :  her  height  of  two  thou- 
sand one  hundred  feet  is  too  steep  for  industry 
to  haul  there  its  material,  and  the  peasants  their 
produce  for  exchange  into  the  necessities  of  life. 
I  saw  a  new  town  springing  up  in  the  plain  by 
the  railroad  station,  which  soon  will  take  the 
place  of  the  old  ;  and  the  latter,  like  Trevi  and 
Spello  and  a  hundred  others,  will  sit  upon  its 
hill-top,  a  deserted  relic  of  antiquity. 

We  stopped  half  way  up  to  see  the  church  of 
the  Madonna  del  Calcinajo,  an  ambitious  early 
renaissance  building  of  fine  proportions  and 
vaulting,  built  of  a  kind  of  slaty  stone  that 
abounds  here,  and  which  had  flaked  off  till  it 
looked  like  a  ruin.  Arrived  at  the  town,  we  en- 
tered by  the  southern  gate,  and  followed  the 
main  street  thence  to  the  albergo.  Cortona,  with 
its  thirty-six  hundred  inhabitants,  is  not  twice  the 
size  of  Spello,  for  example,  but  I  saw  instantly  a 
vast  difference  in  the  large  stuccoed  stores  and 
dwellings  that  lined  this  street.  Here  and  there 


216  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

•was  a  good  renaissance  f  agade,  with  heavy  long- 
and-short-work  at  the  corners,  and  windows  with 
stone  ledges  and  cornices.  Large  doorways  from 
renaissance  days  were  frequent,  built  of  great 
rusticated  stones  projecting  from  the  stucco-like 
radii  of  the  arch.  The  albergo  also  was  of  an 
excellence  far  surpassing  those  of  the  small  towns 
further  south.  Surely,  wherever  Florence  put  her 
finger  (which  she  did  here  in  1410,  reducing  the 
town  to  her  dominion),  there  came,  not  only  a 
revival  of  the  arts,  but  a  revival  of  civilization. 

As  we  walked  about  the  little  city  we  found 
that  the  main  street  ran  straight,  on  a  level,  from 
the  southern  gate  to  the  central  Piazza  Vittorio 
Emmanuele,  whence  it  sloped  downward  to  the 
northern  gate;  and  from  the  Piazza  dipped 
steeply  another  thoroughfare  —  Via  Guelfa  — 
to  the  western  gate.  The  side  streets  were  nar- 
row and  medieval,  running  darkly  up  and  down 
through  windings  and  archways,  between  walls 
of  stone  and  ancient  bricks  and  odds  and  ends. 
The  Piazza  was  picturesque,  having  a  municipio 
with  sweeping  steps  on  the  west,  a  large,  arched 
loggia  above  a  single-storied  building  on  the 
north,  and  another  loggia,  light  and  graceful, 
upon  a  high  building  on  the  east.  Looking  down 
the  Via  Guelfa  we  saw  some  fine  renaissance 
palaces  on  each  hand,  heavy  with  rustica-work 
and  graceful  in  proportions.  Clearly  Cortona 
possessed  some  wealth  five  hundred  years  ago. 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  217 

Adjacent  to  this  piazza  on  the  north  we  found 
another  piazza  whose  name  —  Signorelli —  re- 
called to  us  that  that  distinguished  painter  was 
born  here.  Upon  it  fronted  the  old  Palazzo  Pre- 
torio,  having  imbedded  in  its  side  a  great  many 
armorial  bearings  of  magistrates  who  had  held 
sway  in  it ;  past  these  bearings  a  street  led  us 
northeastward  to  the  cathedral,  which  we  found 
lying  against  the  town  wall,  with  a  little  piazza 
in  front,  from  whose  parapet  stretched  a  splendid 
view  of  the  vale  on  the  north.  The  fagade  of  the 
cathedral  was  dull,  but  in  its  choir  were  four 
paintings  by  Signorelli,  large  canvases,  so  badly 
hung  that  they  could  scarcely  be  seen.  We  saw 
better  ones  in  the  other  churches,  or  at  least  they 
appeared  better  in  the  light  available. 

But  in  the  baptistery  across  the  little  piazza 
from  the  Duomo  we  found  the  gems  of  Cor- 
tona, — three  beautiful  works  by  Fra  Angelico: 
a  large  Annunciation,  and  two  small  predelle 
with  scenes  from  the  lives  of  the  Saviour  and  the 
Virgin  and  S.  Domenico.  The  Annunciation  was 
in  his  earlier,  stilted  style,  but  its  angel  was  of 
marvelous  loveliness,  a  great  golden  butterfly 
with  a  seraphic  face.  The  predelle,  on  the  con- 
trary, were  of  easy,  dramatic  movement,  realistic, 
with  many  figures  of  individuality,  strongly 
grouped;  which,  combined  with  the  Angelico's 
delicious  coloring,  produced  remarkable  effects. 
They  impressed  me,  as  did  the  fragments  of  his 


218  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

altar-piece  in  the  Perugia  gallery,  with  a  sense 
of  his  astonishing  versatility. 

In  the  church  of  S.  Domenico,  which  lies  be- 
hind the  public  garden  at  the  southern  gate  of 
the  town,  we  found  another  Angelico,  —  a  Ma- 
donna and  Saints;  this  was  in  his  stilted  style 
again,  but  of  wonderful  beauty  in  the  Child, 
which  quite  closely  resembled  his  Bambino  in 
Perugia.  Here  was  a  Signorelli  that  was  remark- 
able. For  it  was  a  Madonna  and  Saints  in  the 
pietistic  manner  which  he  seemed  unable  to  master, 
yet  of  real  grace  and  softness.  I  could  hardly 
realize  that  it  was  by  the  same  man  who  painted 
the  grotesque  canvas  in  Perugia's  cathedral. 
Here  was  a  gentle  dignity,  a  benignity,  and  a 
beauty  of  form  and  expression  worthy  of  Niccolo 
da  Foligno. 

We  discovered  another  Signorelli  of  this  char- 
acter in  the  little  church  of  S.  Niccold  on  top  of 
the  hill,  an  altar-piece  painted  on  both  sides.  On 
one  side  was  a  Madonna  enthroned,  of  consider- 
able softness  of  charm;  on  the  other,  an  excel- 
lent representation  of  the  body  of  Christ  borne 
by  angels,  with  saints  around  ;  in  this  Signorelli 
had  more  opportunity  for  freedom  of  movement, 
and  used  it  to  pronounced  effect.  Here  also  is  a 
fresco  of  his,  utterly  ruined  by  "  restoration." 

From  S.  Niccol6  we  climbed,  as  the  sun  was 
setting,  to  the  gaudy  church  of  S.  Margarita 
Still  higher,  which  has  a  campanile  built  by 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  219 

Giovanni  Pisano.  It  was  of  hideous  modernity 
within,  in  the  modern  Italian  bad  taste  of  loud 
colors  and  overdone  ornamentation.  But  from 
the  piazza  in  front  we  had  a  most  beautiful  view. 
Still  above,  and  behind,  rose  the  ruined  fortress 
of  the  town,  to  which  its  walls  creep  up  on  each 
side.  Below  lay  the  town  itself,  bathed  in  the 
golden  light  of  the  sinking  sun,  which  streamed 
from  distant  mountain  peaks  across  the  wide,  ver- 
dant valley  below.  Over  those  peaks  a  cloud  of 
crimson  fire  seemed  to  hang,  like  volcanic  ema- 
nation. To  the  south  gleamed  Lake  Thrasymene, 
rolling  blue  upon  the  plain  from  between  its 
mountain  walls,  as  if  striving  to  recover  the  land 
that  it  had  lost  so  long. 

Next  morning  I  went  again  to  the  central 
piazza,  to  see  that  famous  Etruscan  lamp  which 
is  in  the  museum  of  the  Palazzo  Pretorio.  The 
custodian,  however,  could  not  be  found,  and  as 
we  were  to  leave  directly,  I  had  to  go  without 
viewing  it.  Dennis  describes  it  as  being  like  a 
bowl  about  twenty-three  inches  in  diameter,  round 
whose  rim  are  "  sixteen  lamps  of  classic  form, 
fed  by  oil  from  the  great  bowl,  and  adorned  with 
elegant  foliage  in  relief.  Alternating  with  them 
are  heads  of  the  horned  and  bearded  Bacchus." 
Reliefs  on  the  lamp  and  bowl  are  of  draped  sirens 
with  outspread  wings,  satyrs,  lions,  leopards, 
wolves,  griffins,  a  bull,  a  horse,  a  boar,  a  stag, 
and  Medusa  head.  I  was  sorry  to  miss  this  beau- 


220  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

tif  ul  specimen  of  Etruscan  art  j  but  I  had  already 
seen  much  of  their  sculpture  and  knew  how  well 
they  could  do  in  that  line.  What  I  had  not  seen 
was  a  specimen  of  their  painting  ;  and  to  obtain 
this  we  were  going  to  Chiusi  to  visit  its  tombs, 
one  of  which  is  covered  with  frescoes.  So  I  re- 
turned to  the  albergo,  making  my  way  through 
a  great  crowd  of  peasants  collected  in  the  Piazza, 
for  it  was  market  day.  Half  of  them  held  chick- 
ens in  their  hands  by  the  legs,  and  the  fowls  kept 
up  a  deafening  squawking. 

We  went  south  again  by  the  train,  repassing 
Terontola,  and  following  the  western  shore  of 
Lake  Thrasymene.  Its  three  islands  lifted  again 
their  fair  heads  from  the  water,  and  the  rounded 
gray  mountains  skirted  the  blue  expanse  in  the 
distance.  Leaving  the  lake  behind,  we  were  soon 
at  the  station  of  Chiusi,  at  the  southern  end  of 
the  Valle  di  Chiana.  The  town  of  Chiusi  sat 
upon  a  hill-top  a  mile  or  two  away,  raising  against 
the  sky  a  vast  tower  like  a  castle-keep,  and  we 
proceeded  to  it  by  vettura.  It  also  was  an  im- 
portant Etruscan  city,  —  the  Clusium  of  Lars 
Porsena  fame,  the  headquarters  of  various  wars 
against  Rome.  It  is  a  little  place  to-day,  of  only 
eighteen  hundred  inhabitants,  and  has  nothing 
of  interest  within  its  mediaeval  walls  except  an 
Etruscan  museum  and  a  cathedral  with  columns 
from  ancient  temples.  We  therefore  did  not  lin- 
ger long  at  the  town,  but  set  out  for  the  tombs 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  221 

called  "della  Scimmia"  and  "  della  Granduca." 
These  are  the  two  most  important  of  the  many 
discovered  near  Chiusi  in  all  directions,  and 
whose  disposition  indicates  that  in  Etruscan  days, 
when  Clusium  was  a  large  capital,  there  were 
many  noble  families  living  on  their  private  estates 
in  the  country  round  about.  We  soon  saw  the 
additional  likelihood  of  this  in  the  character  of 
the  country;  for  it  is  beautifully  rolling,  with 
soft  vales  of  exquisite  luxuriance,  and  rounded 
hills  that  lift  clumps  of  great  oak  trees  above 
graceful  vineyards.  Not  even  in  Umbria  had  I 
seen  so  beautiful  a  landscape.  It  was  the  verdure 
of  Kent  and  Sussex  transplanted  to  the  Cheviot 
Hills,  intermixed  with  the  vine  and  olive,  and 
domed  by  the  blue  Italian  sky. 

As  we  drove  around  the  crest  of  Chiusi's  hill 
we  saw  across  the  rich  vale  to  its  south,  and  be- 
yond the  defile  into  which  the  railroad  plunges 
from  the  Valle  di  Chiana,  the  town  of  Citta  della 
Pieve  upon  its  height,  —  walls  and  towers  em- 
bosomed in  a  wood  of  giant  trees.  There,  I 
thought,  in  the  narrow  streets  so  hid,  the  genius 
of  Perugino  first  saw  the  light  of  day.  And  still 
further  south,  but  a  little  way  along  that  iron 
track,  rises  the  crowned  hill  of  Orvieto,  with 
Maitani's  wonderful  cathedral  glistening  on  its 
top.  Since  last  I  looked  upon  that  I  had  made 
almost  a  complete  circle  through  the  mountains 
of  central  Italy. 


222  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

After  rounding  Chiusi's  hill  we  descended  upon 
the  north  through  the  luxuriant  rolling  fields  and 
woods  of  oaks  almost  to  the  level  of  the  Valle  di 
Chiana,  which  could  be  seen  stretching  on  to 
Cortona.  Here  the  show  of  wild  flowers  and 
meadows  of  cultivated  clover  was  something  in- 
describable. It  cannot  be  imagined,  and  is  hardly 
credible  when  told.  The  earth  was  almost  a  car- 
pet, beneath  the  vine-trees  and  great  oaks,  of 
poppies,  broom,  wild  roses,  mustard,  daisies, 
mignonette,  and  white  and  red  clover.  It  was  a 
genuine  kaleidoscope  wherever  the  eyes  turned. 
The  wide  fields  of  crimson  clover  made  the 
chief  display ;  but  prettiest  of  all  were  the  count- 
less acres  of  wheat  so  overgrown  with  scarlet 
poppies  that  they  seemed  like  great  bouquets  with 
light-green  trimming.  We  left  the  vehicle  and 
climbed  for  half  an  hour  a  little  path  that  wound 
through  the  woods  and  vineyards.  White  and 
pink  rose-bushes  lined  it,  filling  the  air  with 
fragrance ;  sometimes  we  walked  through  woods 
entirely  of  oaks,  tremendous  yet  graceful  trees, 
by  whose  mossy  roots  trickled  here  and  there 
little  rivulets.  Coming  out  upon  a  cleared  hill-top 
once,  we  saw  Chiusi  to  the  south,  lifting  its  brown 
towers  above  a  sloping  wall  of  forest.  To  the 
east  glistened  below  in  the  valley  the  Lake  of 
Chiusi,  set  like  an  oval  sapphire  in  a  bed  of 
emerald. 

Just  beyond  this  height  we  found  the  "  Deposito 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  223 

della  Scimmia."  The  custodian  of  the  tombs,  who 
had  accompanied  us  from  Chiusi,  unlocked  the 
modern  doors  that  guard  the  entrance,  and  we 
descended  some  twenty  feet  to  the  vestibule. 
This  tomb  was  hewn  out  of  the  tufa,  like  that  of 
the  Volumnii.  The  four  walls  of  the  vestibule 
were  covered  with  frescoes,  which  we  examined  as 
well  as  possible  by  the  glimmer  of  three  candles. 
The  figures  were  entirely  in  red,  upon  a  white 
background,  men  and  horses  engaged  in  an  ath- 
letic contest.  The  representation  of  these  games 
extended  completely  around  the  room.  There 
were  boxers,  wrestlers,  chariot  races,  and  bareback 
performers ;  one  slim  lady  in  tights  was  reclining 
upon  the  side  of  a  galloping  horse  in  exactly  the 
style  of  the  original  American  circus.  The  draw- 
ing was  somewhat  crude,  but  not  at  all  archaic ; 
the  anatomy  was  generally  excellent.  There  was 
no  perspective,  or  drawn  background,  or  mould- 
ing of  the  figures ;  but  the  muscular  action  and 
movement  were  cleverly  done.  There  was  no 
finish  to  the  work ;  it  would  not  serve  to  adorn 
a  drawing-room.  In  one  place  was  represented 
the  monkey  after  which  the  tomb  is  called,  sit- 
ting in  observation  of  the  games,  and  plainly 
gibbering. 

Other  specimens  of  Etruscan  painting  than 
this  tomb-work  are  wanting,  because,  of  course, 
any  other  must  have  been  upon  material  that 
has  perished.  To  judge  from  this,  the  Etruscan 


224  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

ideas  of  the  art  were  advanced  only  in  the  line 
of  dramatic  representation  and  action  and  fairly 
good  execution  of  outline.  But  they  probably 
could  do  better  than  this.  There  are  no  paintings 
in  the  "  Deposito  della  Granduca,"  to  which  we 
now  descended  by  another  route.  This  was  a  tomb 
of  an  entirely  different,  and  probably  later,  period ; 
it  was  constructed  of  large,  carefully  fitted  stones, 
not  hewn  out  of  the  rock  —  and  stood  imbedded 
in  the  slope  of  a  hill.  The  barrel  vaulting  was 
some  ten  feet  in  height,  and  very  fine ;  sarcophagi 
with  terra  cotta  figures  lined  the  walls,  and  held 
some  excellent  reliefs.  Near  this  tomb  the  vehicle 
was  awaiting  us,  and  we  returned  to  Chiusi, 
through  the  meadows  of  flowers  and  rolling  hills 
of  oaks. 

At  the  little  albergo  we  enjoyed  one  of  those 
characteristic  Italian  meals,  —  thin  soup  poured 
over  a  plate  of  boiled  maccaroni,  eggs  al  piatto, 
fried  artichokes,  and  fried  potatoes,  all  seasoned 
with  wine.  Curiously  enough  the  wine  here,  as 
soon  as  we  had  reached  the  mountains  of  the 
western  side  of  Italy,  was  good.  In  Umbria  I  had 
found  it  uniformly  poor.  The  good  wine  region 
stretches  from  Firenze  on  the  north  to  Rome  on 
the  south,  west  of  the  Valle  di  Chiana  and  the 
Paglia  and  the  Tiber.  The  excellent  hostess  of  the 
albergo  bustled  about  in  great  anxiety  to  please, 
and  rendered  a  bill  very  small  in  proportion  to 
her  efforts.  Then  we  mounted  the  vettura  again, 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  225 

to  drive  to  Montepulciano.  The  road  descended 
to  the  Valle  di  Chiana  and  followed  its  western 
side  for  about  two  hours,  through  level  fields  of 
growing  cereals  intermixed  with  flowers  and 
shaded  by  vine-bearing  trees,  and  often  between 
sweet  hawthorn  hedges.  Then  we  began  the 
laborious  ascent  to  the  west  of  the  mountain  of 
Montepulciano,  an  isolated  peak,  crowned  with 
its  extensive  walls  and  towers.  For  a  full  hour 
we  climbed,  with  many  a  winding,  and  entered  at 
last  through  a  massive  gateway  with  black  abut- 
ments of  stone.  Close  inside  the  gate  upon  the 
main  street  was  our  stopping  place,  fronted  by  a 
tall  column  bearing  an  ornamental  mediaeval  lion. 
I  saw  at  once  that  Montepulciano  was  a  place 
of  considerable  character.  Magnificently  situated 
upon  its  isolated,  commanding  mountain  in  the 
centre  of  this  most  fertile  region,  —  wide  luxuri-. 
ant  valleys  on  three  sides  and  the  long  slope  to 
the  Valle  di  Chiana  on  the  fourth  —  it  has 
always  been  the  natural  centre  and  mistress  of 
the  territory.  First  Etruscan,  then  Roman,  it 
rose  to  greatest  importance  and  size  in  the  dark 
ages,  like  other  towns  of  impregnable  position ; 
and  in  renaissance  days  it  was  possessed  of 
enough  wealth  and  brains  to  take  up  civilization 
and  art  more  eagerly  and  more  completely  than 
any  other  mountain  city  save  Siena.  It  did  not 
produce  or  acquire  painting  like  Assisi  and  Peru- 
gia ;  but  it  widened  its  streets  and  piazzas,  and 


226  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

adorned  them  with  a  long  series  of  fine  renais- 
sance palaces.  On  this  main  street  I  saw  them, 
to  my  delight,  extending  away  up  the  hill  to  the 
west.  Hurriedly  settling  our  belongings  at  the  al- 
bergo,  we  started  in  this  direction.  Immediately 
on  the  left  was  a  handsome,  pure  fagade  by  Vi- 
gnola  ;  opposite  was  another  excellent  one,  with 
a  great  number  of  Etruscan  bas-reliefs  built  into 
the  wall.  The  palaces  stretched  grandly  on,  with 
imposing  rustica-work  and  cornices,  and  graceful 
pilasters  and  arches,  arcaded  or  built  in  relief ; 
and  even  the  more  modern  stuccoed  fronts  that 
were  interspersed  were  fair  and  harmonious,  ob- 
serving the  prime  idea  of  correct  proportion  of 
opening  to  the  solid.  Clearly  Montepulciano 
formerly  possessed  many  times  its  present  popu- 
lation of  three  thousand.  But  this  small  popu- 
lation is  quite  up  to  date.  Pretty  little  stores 
lined  the  street,  and  well-dressed  people  of  pre- 
possessing manners  filled  the  thoroughfare  and 
sat  drinking  coffee  in  many  goodly  cafes.  Even 
the  side  streets,  that  pitched  down  to  the  battle- 
ments on  the  left  and  climbed  the  hillside  on  the 
right,  appeared  cleanly  and  inhabitable. 

We  passed  a  tower  on  the  left  that  bore  aloft 
the  town  clock  with  a  large  bell  in  open  air; 
and  beside  the  bell  stood  a  wooden  figure  of  a 
buffoon,  dressed  in  white  clown's  clothes  with  huge 
blue  buttons  and  a  dunce's  cap,  waving  a  spear 
in  the  left  hand  and  holding  a  hammer  in  the 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  227 

right  to  strike  the  hours.  I  was  informed  that  it 
had  sounded  thus  the  hours  for  a  great  many 
years,  and  that  the  people  were  much  attached 
to  it. 

The  street  kept  on  westward  up  the  hill,  pass- 
ing through  a  huge  archway,  and  by  a  market- 
hall  on  the  right  designed  by  Vignola,  with  a 
large  arcade.  A  tablet  on  a  brick  house  to  the 
left  announced  that  Politianus,  the  scholar  and 
poet,  was  born  there  in  1454.  Handsome  palaces 
continued  to  line  the  way,  till  it  terminated  at 
last  in  an  open  piazza  on  the  south  side  of  the 
mountain-top.  Here  there  was  a  magnificent  view : 
to  the  south,  of  the  wide  valley  far  below  with  its 
rich  verdure  checkered  with  fields  of  crimson 
clover;  to  the  west,  of  another  valley,  set  with 
an  imposing  church  designed  by  Antonio  da 
Sangallo  the  elder  in  the  shape  of  a  cross  with 
majestic  dome,  and  beyond  the  valley  a  great 
range  of  mountains,  running  from  north  to 
south,  peak  after  peak  rising  against  the  redden- 
ing sunset  sky. 

From  this  piazza  another  street  led  northward 
over  the  hill-top  to  the  piazza  on  its  apex.  Here, 
we  found,  at  this  tremendous  height,  the  Monte- 
pulcianese  had  placed  their  public  palace  and 
their  cathedral ;  and  no  finer  public  square  for  a 
small  place  can  be  found.  On  the  west  of  it  rises 
the  Palazzo  in  gothic  style,  with  battlements  and 
high  machicolated  tower,  a  beautiful  building, 


228  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

that  seizes  instant  hold  of  the  eye  and  the  im- 
agination,—  a  building  of  which  any  city  of  a 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants  would  be  proud. 
On  the  north  and  east  rise  two  splendid  speci- 
mens of  the  Renaissance,  —  private  palaces  de- 
signed by  Sangallo,  with  beautiful  proportions, 
graceful  lines,  and  harmonious  details.  Beside 
one  of  them  is  an  exquisite  well-top  in  similar 
style,  the  cross-beam  surmounted  by  carved  Rons. 
On  the  south  stands  the  cathedral,  with  unfin- 
ished brick  fagade,  but  imposing  from  its  size. 
We  went  into  this,  as  vespers  were  being  chanted, 
and  examined  in  the  dusk  the  beautiful  frag- 
ments of  a  monument  once  erected  there  by  the 
famous  architect  Michelozzo.  The  light  from  a 
few  candles  lit  upon  the  high  altar  twinkled 
down  the  gloom  of  the  lofty  nave.  The  sonorous 
chanting  of  the  unseen  priests  rolled  along  the 
vaulting,  and  reverberated  from  arch  to  arch  of 
the  bays.  Moving  nearer,  we  saw  through  a  door- 
way beside  the  altar  a  section  of  the  choir  be- 
hind ;  there,  in  the  dark,  other  candles  twinkled, 
each  reflecting  rosily  upon  the  rubicund  face  and 
open  missal  of  a  singing  padre.  These  cowled 
faces,  shining  alone  in  the  encompassing  gloom, 
the  few  altar  lights  glimmering  in  the  vastness  of 
the  church,  and  the  deep  chant  rolling  through 
its  arches,  —  made  a  scene  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

When  we  came  out,  it  was  still  twilight,  and 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  229 

we  returned  to  the  lower  town  by  a  street  leav- 
ing the  north  end  of  the  piazza.  It  passed  more 
renaissance  palaces,  including  a  particularly  in- 
teresting gothic  fagade  of  brick  —  the  Palazzo 
Bombagli  —  and  came  down  to  the  main  street 
by  Vignola's  market  place. 

The  next  morning  early  I  went  over  this  route 
again,  enjoying  the  architecture  in  the  bright 
sunlight,  and  lingering  over  the  view  from  the 
hill-top  to  the  west.  The  eastern  sun  fell  full 
upon  the  mountains  in  that  quarter,  picking  out 
every  shining  hamlet  and  town ;  and  I  saw,  upon 
three  hill-tops  in  the  middle  distance,  one  rising 
behind  the  other,  the  glistening  battlements  of 
Pienza,  San  Quirico  and  Montalcino.  Behind 
them,  again,  loomed  far  higher  peaks,  gray  and 
bare.  To  the  southwest  rose  the  monarch  of  them 
all,  Monte  Amiata,  in  sublime,  isolated,  towering 
majesty,  dominating  with  his  pyramidal  cloud- 
capped  top  this  whole  quarter  of  Italy.  He  is  a 
second  Soracte,  and  a  grander  one,  with  a  sub- 
sidiary region  more  extensive.  Last  night  he  had 
been  hidden  in  the  clouds,  but  now  he  shone  dis- 
tinct in  the  sunlight,  with  rocky  sides  far  above 
the  tree-line,  and  wreathed,  serrated  cone.  Into 
his  territory  we  were  going  that  day,  —  to  Pienza 
and  San  Quirico. 

From  the  albergo  itself  there  was  a  splendid 
view  to  the  east,  which  I  took  at  sunrise :  the 
three  lakes,  Thrasymene  and  Chiusi  and  Monte- 


230  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

pulciano,  lying  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains,  re- 
flecting the  level  sun-rays  from  their  polished 
surfaces ;  on  this  side  the  long  slope  of  the 
mountains  stretching  down  to  them,  rich  with 
its  burden  of  vines  and  oaks  and  flowers;  and 
beyond  them,  peaks  everywhere  again,  dark 
against  the  brightening  sky. 

We  started  on  our  drive  for  Pienza  about  nine 
o'clock,  making  the  descent  to  the  valley  west  of 
Montepulciano  by  a  road  which  left  the  eastern 
gate  and  curved  spirally  around  the  mountain 
with  those  same  magnificent  views.  Once  in  the 
valley  we  found  it  not  flat  but  undulating,  with 
waves  of  luxuriant  verdure  that  cast  up  against 
the  sky  square  donjon  keeps  and  crenellated 
walls.  Then  we  mounted  again,  through  these 
hills  like  billows  of  vegetation,  rich  with  vine- 
yards and  olive-groves  and  topped  by  tufted 
copses  of  giant  oaks.  And  everywhere  was  a 
pandemonium  of  color,  so  loudly  did  the  gorgeous 
hues  of  clover  and  wild-flower  blaze  in  the  sun. 
The  fields  that  were  not  crimson  with  clover  were 
pink  or  lavender  with  countless  acres  of  sweet 
peas ;  the  meadows  for  grazing  were  overspread 
completely  with  the  variegated  hues  of  broom, 
daisies,  marguerites,  and  a  hundred  other  flowers ; 
and  the  vineyards,  beneath  the  vines  swinging 
from  tree  to  tree  and  drooping  from  the  branches, 
were  not  the  light  green  of  growing  wheat  but  a 
vivid  glistening  scarlet,  —  for  here  the  poppies 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  231 

had  won  the  mastery  of  the  cereal.  It  was  a  riot 
of  color,  —  it  was  color  run  mad.  Yet  the  eye 
found  relief  in  the  green  of  the  vines  and  the 
umbrageous  thickets  of  oak ;  and  the  road,  lined 
with  hawthorn  hedges  or  hushes  of  wild  rose, 
careened  along  the  sides  of  the  hills,  crested  their 
tops,  dipped  into  shady  vales,  and  rose  again. 
Beyond  this  rolling  sea  of  verdure  rose  always 
the  higher  and  barer  mountains,  gray  on  their 
rocky  summits,  and  holding  on  each  lower 
pinnacle  a  battlemented  town  or  castle.  There 
gleamed  Pienza  ahead  of  us,  behind  its  massive 
parapets,  and  San  Quirico  beyond,  lifting  to 
heaven  a  gigantic  mediaeval  tower;  there  sat 
Montepulciano  on  its  isolated  conical  peak,  crest- 
ing it  like  a  crown.  And  all  around,  on  every 
crag  and  buttress  of  the  mountains,  glistened  in 
the  sun  the  walls  of  countless  villages.  Dominat- 
ing this  beautiful  scene  as  a  donjon  tower  domi- 
nates a  palace-fortress,  was  the  colossal  bristling 
pyramid  of  Monte  Amiata,  drawing  ever  nearer, 
till  it  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  southern  sky  to 
the  meridian  with  its  glowering  bastions  and  its 
mantling  spire. 

As  we  came  close  to  Pienza  it  was  difficult  to 
realize,  when  looking  at  its  high  walls  set  with 
ponderous  round  towers  and  its  mass  of  house- 
tops rising  within,  that  it  was  really  a  tiny  town 
of  but  a  thousand  inhabitants.  It  never  had  been 
a  large  place.  Its  interest  therefore  did  not  arise 


232  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

from  past  greatness  or  history,  but  from  two 
other  unique  causes :  one  was  its  setting  in  this 
scenery  of  unparalleled  beauty  and  splendor ;  the 
other  because  Aeneas  Sylvius  Piccolomini  was 
born  here,  and  after  he  became  Pope  Pius  II 
adorned  its  central  piazza  on  all  four  sides  with 
fine  renaissance  palaces  and  a  cathedral.  The 
village,  which  had  theretofore  borne  the  name  of 
Corsignano,  then  assumed  that  of  Pienza  in 
gratitude  to  its  benefactor. 

We  entered  the  north  gate  and  drove  up  the 
little  main  street  to  the  Piazza,  where  we  dis- 
mounted. It  was  a  smaller  piazza  than  I  had  un- 
consciously anticipated,  and  the  buildings  about 
it  were  similarly  smaller  j  yet  the  palaces  were  of 
purest  renaissance  work,  and  beautiful  in  their 
lines.  The  lines  were  exceptionally  harmonious, 
because  they  were  all  constructed  at  the  same  time, 
1460.  The  Palazzo  Municipale  stood  on  the  east 
side,  with  a  graceful  colonnade  on  the  ground 
story,  and  a  high  tower  with  bracketed  and  ma- 
chicolated  top ;  the  Palazzo  Vescovile  on  the  south, 
a  square  brown  stone  fagade  with  simple  pleasing 
outlines ;  the  Palazzo  Piccolomini  —  largest  and 
finest  of  the  three  —  on  the  north.  The  last  was 
faced  with  rustica-work ;  its  three  stories  were 
separated  by  heavy  string-courses  and  had  pilas- 
ters at  the  angles.  The  windows  of  the  first  story 
were  basement-like,  —  small  and  square,  without 
ledge  or  cornice,  and  set  with  bars ;  they  gave 


ANCIKXT   FACADE,    S.    MARIA    DELLA    PIEVE— ARKZZO 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAtf  QUIRICO  233 

strength  and  solidity  to  the  building.  The  win- 
dows of  the  upper  stories  were  light  and  grace- 
ful, —  two  in  each  large  arch,  separated  by  a  slim 
corinthian  column.  Thus  there  was  heaviness  at 
the  bottom  tapering  to  airiness  above,  the  proper 
combination  of  strength  and  grace,  which  is 
nevertheless  so  seldom  attained. 

The  fagade  of  the  cathedral  was  dull ;  but  its 
interior  gave  a  pronounced  effect  of  spacious  dig- 
nity, and  it  contained  three  interesting  altar-pieces 
by  Sienese  masters  of  that  period  when  the  art 
of  their  school  alone  was  sleeping  in  the  past  — 
the  quattrocentists  Matteo  di  Giovanni,  Vecchieta, 
and  Sano  di  Pietro.  Their  long-eyed,  stiff  Ma- 
donnas with  rich  robes  on  golden  backgrounds 
seemed  in  some  way,  however,  to  fit  this  dusky 
old  cathedral  in  its  little  mountain  town  so  far 
from  modern  life.  An  elaborate  high  mass  was 
being  celebrated,  with  a  large  attendance  of 
devout  and  kneeling  peasants ;  and  it  recalled  to 
me  that  this  was  the  Sunday  after  Corpus  Christi, 
one  of  the  most  important  festas  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  year.  It  was  on  this  account  that  the 
streets  without  were  so  highly  decorated  with 
flags  and  bunting.  I  left  the  cathedral  and  walked 
through  the  little  main  street  to  the  southern  gate ; 
every  window  on  the  way  hung  out  a  silken  ban- 
ner or  lace-edged  counterpane.  The  counterpanes 
were  most  frequent ;  it  was  an  exceptional  oppor- 
tunity to  inspect  bed  linen  ;  but  I  was  surprised 


234  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

to  see  how  the  humblest  dwellings  draped  from 
their  aged,  broken  window  ledges  really  exquisite 
cloths.  The  whole  effect  was  most  spectacular; 
looking  back  through  the  narrow  way  with  its 
high  brown  fagades  of  stone  and  stucco,  I  could 
see  no  longer  the  dark  walls  but  a  vast  gleaming 
mass  of  white,  red,  yellow  and  blue  that  waved 
on  both  sides  to  the  sky. 

Then  came  boys  with  great  baskets  filled  with 
flowers,  and  they  strewed  the  pavement  with 
blossoms  of  broom  and  poppy  until  they  formed 
a  veritable  carpet  hiding  the  stone.  I  went  back 
some  way  to  meet  the  Corpus  Christi  procession, 
which  I  knew  by  the  approaching  chanting  had 
left  the  cathedral.  Then  it  turned  the  corner  and 
came  on  slowly  and  dignifiedly,  —  flags,  banners 
and  crosses  surmounting  the  white  garments  of 
the  marchers.  From  the  streamers  on  the  house- 
walls  to  the  waving  banners  and  matting  of  flow- 
ers, —  it  was  all  now  a  tossing  sea  of  color.  And 
the  people  crowded  in  from  every  side  street  and 
filled  the  windows  of  the  dwellings,  deferential, 
with  hats  in  hand,  but  trembling  in  excitement. 
The  choir-boys  led  the  procession,  two  by  two,  in 
a  long  line ;  acolytes  followed  swinging  censers; 
then  came  the  seminarists.  Here  and  there  were 
men  carrying  flags,  and  gilded  crosses,  and  a 
huge  crucifix  under  a  canopy.  The  chanting 
rolled  sonorously  down  the  narrow  way.  One 
beautifully  worked  banner  was  that  of  the  "  com- 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  235 

pany  "  of  this  festa,  followed  by  the  laymen  con- 
stituting it,  all  dressed  in  white  robes  like  sur- 
plices. Then  came  the  priests,  with  the  chief 
ministrant  carrying  the  host  in  its  golden  mon- 
strance under  a  great  gorgeous  baldachino. 
Where  but  in  Italy,  I  thought,  can  one  obtain 
such  a  sight  as  this  ?  Beautiful  old  Italy,  with  her 
blue  sky  and  rounded  mountains  and  flowering 
vales,  and  little  ancient  towns  tucked  away  in  the 
hills  within  their  mediaeval  battlements,  down 
whose  narrow  ways  can  wind  such  survivals  of 
the  historic  past ! 

When  the  procession  had  made  its  round  of 
the  streets  upon  its  carpet  of  flowers,  and  re- 
gained the  cathedral,  we  started  again  for  San 
Quirico.  On  this  drive  the  scenery  changed 
rapidly  from  its  former  luxuriance  of  verdure  to 
a  remarkable  barrenness.  We  had  entered  the 
peculiar  chalk-country  which  extends  from  Siena 
on  the  north  to  Mt.  Amiata  on  the  south.  The 
wild  flowers  ceased,  the  trees  ceased,  even  the 
grass  almost  disappeared.  The  rounded  hills  now 
stretched  away  on  each  side  white  and  cold,  and 
Amiata  glowered  down  over  them  with  a  look 
more  grim  and  terrible.  An  hour  of  this  brought 
us  to  San  Quirico,  clustering  on  its  knoll  about 
a  mighty  castle-tower.  It  is  a  town  of  no  gen- 
eral interest,  though  more  important  to  the  peas- 
ants as  a  distributing  point  than  Pienza ;  for  it 
is  but  five  miles  from  the  branch  railroad  that 


236  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

traverses  these  mountains  from  Asciano  on  the 
northeast  to  the  sea-coast  at  Grosseto.  We  amused 
ourselves  by  saying  that  the  eighteen  hundred 
inhabitants  had  a  much  more  metropolitan  look 
than  those  of  Pienza.  The  main  street  was  wider, 
and  faced  with  more  modern  buildings  of  stucco, 
which  to-day  were  decorated  with  similar  banners 
and  flags.  I  compared  this  clean,  comfortable- 
looking  little  place  with  such  other  mountain 
towns  as  Trevi,  Narni  and  Orte  (which  have  the 
additional  advantage  of  being  directly  on  a  rail- 
road) and  realized  again  how  far  the  Tuscan  vil- 
lager is  ahead  of  those  further  south. 

We  had  our  usual  Italian  lunch  in  the  state- 
room of  the  small  albergo,  upon  its  third  floor ; — 
they  evidently  think  height  above  ground  equiv- 
alent to  height  of  luxury.  Then  we  visited  the 
chief  sight  of  the  town,  which  had  brought  us 
here,  an  ancient  gothic  church  at  the  north  end 
of  the  main  street.  It  was  founded  in  the  eighth 
century  and  rebuilt  in  the  twelfth,  and  from  the 
latter  period  date  its  three  extraordinary  porches. 
They  abound  in  those  weird  animals  of  the  dark 
ages,  which  are  so  frightful  and  yet  are  decora- 
tive; these  creatures  supported  the  columns  of 
the  portals,  and  ran  and  fought  over  the  entabla- 
tures. Upon  the  frieze  of  the  main  doorway  two 
alligators  (such  they  looked)  were  devouring  each 
other.  Within  there  was  nothing  of  special 
interest ;  but  the  adjacent  Misericordia  church, 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  237 

entered  from  this  collegiate  edifice,  contains  an 
altar-piece  by  the  great  master  of  Siena,  who 
illuminated  that  city  and  this  surrounding  country 
by  his  genius  in  the  early  sixteenth  century,  — 
Giovanni  Antonio  Bazzi,  surnamed  Sodoma. 

It  was  with  keen  interest  that  I  approached  this 
first  specimen  of  that  master  which  I  had  found. 
The  painting  was  on  canvas,  representing  a  Ma- 
donna and  St.  Sebastian  and  St.  Agostino,  and 
was  much  disfigured  by  cracking;  nevertheless 
it  was  of  amazing  beauty.  Here  was  a  master 
contemporary  with  Raphael,  who  had  never 
studied  like  him  in  the  school  of  Umbria,  but  had 
evolved  his  ability  from  within  himself ;  and 
here  was  a  production  magnificent  in  the  Umbrian 
qualities  of  grace,  gentleness,  color  and  expres- 
sion. Joined  to  them  was  a  rich  warm  tone  and 
a  wonderful  execution.  The  flesh  coloring  re- 
minded me  of  Lo  Spagna,  though  a  shade  or 
two  darker.  The  Sebastian's  naked  body  was 
most  beautiful  in  proportions,  graceful  lines,  and 
accuracy  of  drawing.  I  knew  that  Sodoma  has 
the  reputation  of  being  often  careless  and  slurring 
in  his  work  —  his  great  fault  —  but  this  pic- 
ture was  done  with  care.  I  afterwards  saw  but 
few  of  his  hundred  works  in  Siena  that  could 
equal  it. 

Before,  leaving  San  Quirico  I  visited  also  the 
great  tower  which  so  dominates  it,  situated  in 
some  charming  neglected  gardens  beneath  the 


238  HILL  TOWNS  OP  ITALY 

southern  wall  of  the  town.  Here  very  manifestly 
had  stood  a  mediaeval  castle,  of  which  this  was 
the  donjon ;  but  all  else  had  been  razed  so  long 
ago  that  the  man  who  conducted  me  knew  no- 
thing about  it.  The  tower  was  of  brick,  about 
twenty  feet  square,  and  rose  a  hundred  feet  to 
heaven  without  a  single  opening.  The  destroy- 
ers of  the  castle  had  turned  from  it  in  despair. 

We  drove  to  Torrenieri  and  the  railroad  in 
another  hour,  continuing  over  the  bare  hills  of 
the  chalk  district,  and  then  descending  to  a  more 
fertile  valley,  cultivated  and  wooded.  Torrenieri 
is  but  a  village  near  the  station,  utterly  insignifi- 
cant; so  we  waited  upon  the  platform  for  the 
train,  which  soon  came  along.  It  took  us  up 
the  valley  for  half  an  hour,  following  its  stream, 
which  plunged  in  the  opposite  direction  —  south- 
westward  —  to  the  Ombrone  River  and  the  sea. 
Then  the  train  pierced  by  a  series  of  tunnels  the 
watershed  that  divides  the  slope  towards  the 
sea  from  the  Valle  di  Chiana,  and  emerged  at 
the  junction  of  Asciano.  Here  we  were  not  far 
north  of  Montepulciano,  amongst  the  hills  that 
rise  westward  from  the  Chiana;  but  these  hills 
had  not  the  amazing  fertility  and  beauty  of  Mon- 
tepulciano. We  were  still  in  the  barren  chalk 
district.  And  through  this  district  we  continued 
northwestward  to  Siena,  until,  within  a  few  miles 
of  the  latter  place,  fertility  again  developed  and 
oaks  and  olive-groves  sprang  up  on  the  rounding 


FROM  LAKE  THRASYMENE  TO  SAN  QUIRICO  239 

slopes.  Then  the  walls  and  towers  of  the  great 
city  that  once  struggled  with  Florence  for  the 
supremacy  of  Tuscany  peered  down  from  their 
hill-tops,  the  striped  campanile  of  the  Duomo 
and  the  battlemented  top  of  the  Mangia  soaring 
above  them  all,  glistening  in  the  gold  of  the 
setting  sun. 


CHAPTER  X 

SIENA 

THE  inhabitants  of  Siena  will  tell  you  that  its 
origin  was  a  settlement  made  in  the  first  days  of 
Rome  by  Senius,  the  son  of  Remus,  whence  the 
place  obtained  its  name  and  emblem  —  a  she- 
wolf  suckling  twin  babes.  But  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  Etruscans  occupied  these  three  command- 
ing hills,  situated  as  they  are  in  the  centre  of  the 
region  between  the  Monti  del  Chianti  on  the 
north,  Mt.  Amiata  on  the  south,  and  the  sea- 
coast  range  where  Volterra  lies  on  the  west,  — 
and  overlooking  to  the  east  the  rich  Valle  di 
Chiana.  In  evidence  of  this  are  the  Etruscan 
vases  found  in  the  soil  of  the  three  hills  and  sur- 
rounding fields.  At  any  rate  Siena  was  a  Roman 
military  colony  in  the  time  of  Augustus,  and  was 
called  by  the  Romans  "  Sena,"  from  senae,  signi- 
fying a  union  of  different  villages  into  one  city ; 
to  which  they  added  "  Julia  "  in  memory  of  the 
great  Caesar.  Here  was  where  the  Sieiiese  ob- 
tained their  emblem ;  and  their  faithfulness  to  it 
through  all  the  centuries  fairly  indicates  their 
faithfulness  to  Rome ;  there  is  no  record  of  any 


SIENA  241 

such  revolt  and  suppression  as  happened  to  Peru- 
gia. The  Sienese  warlike  spirit  developed  later 
than  that  of  the  Umbrian  city,  but  when  it  came 
it  was  even  more  ferocious  and  destructive.  It  had 
not  developed  when  the  Roman  Empire  fell,  for 
the  city  passed  peacefully  under  the  yoke  of  the 
Lombards,  and  remained  subject  to  them,  and 
afterwards  to  the  empire  which  Charlemagne 
founded,  till  Charlemagne's  weaker  descendants 
loosened  their  grasp.  Then,  about  1125  A.  D., 
Siena  began  her  career  as  an  independent  com- 
monwealth, with  a  rampant  civic  patriotism  which 
has  never  waned.  She  erected  a  republican  form 
of  government ;  upon  which  the  militant  nobles 
whose  lands  and  castles  spread  about  the  city 
were  at  first  a  drag  and  menace.  Theirs  was  a 
nobility  de  facto,  descended  from  the  followers 
of  Charlemagne  upon  whom  he  had  bestowed  the 
lands.  Soon,  however,  they  left  their  castles  and 
built  palace-fortresses  in  the  city,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  government  whose  reins  they  then 
proceeded  to  take.  There  followed  the  civic  dis- 
cord and  tumult  which  every  Italian  mediaeval 
city  seems  to  have  undergone,  —  nobles,  burghers 
and  common  people  cutting  each  others'  throats, 
exiling  each  other,  destroying  each  others'  dwell- 
ings, in  a  prolonged  terrific  struggle  for  the 
mastery.  The  nobles  here,  as  elsewhere,  came 
out  on  top,  and  then  turned  their  attention  to 
massacring  the  members  of  their  own  order.  The 


242  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Salimbeni  fought  the  Tolomei,  the  Piccolomini 
fought  the  Malavolti,  in  terrible  feuds  that  lasted 
for  generations. 

While  this  incessant  strife  was  tearing  the  city 
within,  there  was  not  less  without.  The  struggle 
with  Florence  for  the  mastery  of  Tuscany  began 
as  early  as  845,  when  Siena  defeated  her  at  the 
battle  of  Montemaggio.  This  was  a  struggle  of 
political  parties  as  much  as  of  rival  cities,  al- 
though the  politics  were  ludicrously  nominal : 
Florence  was  the  leader  of  the  Guelph  cause 
(with  Perugia  following)  and  Siena  was  the  leader 
of  the  Ghibelline.  The  Perugians  won  a  great 
victory  over  the  Sienese  in  1358 ;  but  in  the 
conflicts  with  Florence  the  latter  were  generally 
successful,  as  at  S.  Salvatore  a  Selva  in  1082,  and 
Monte  alle  Croce  somewhat  later.  In  1260  oc- 
curred the  greatest  battle  in  the  annals  of  the  city, 
which  they  have  never  ceased  celebrating  to  this 
day.  At  Montaperto  on  the  Arbia,  some  eight 
miles  from  Siena,  the  Sienese  completely  de- 
stroyed the  Florentine  army,  slaying  about  10,000 
and  taking  about  15,000  prisoners.  The  "  ca- 
roccio  "  (battle-car)  of  the  Florentines,  which  was 
captured  then,  was  hauled  in  triumph  about  the 
Piazza  del  Campo  on  every  f esta  of  the  Palio  — 
which  occurs  each  August  —  for  five  or  six  hun- 
dred years,  when  it  fell  to  pieces,  and  had  to  be 
replaced  by  a  copy,  that  still  makes  the  round. 

Nothing    better    indicates    the   character   of 


SIENA  243 

Siena's  Ghibellinism  than  that  when  the  Emperor 
Frederick  Barbarossa  visited  Tuscany  in  1186, 
she  was  the  only  city  to  shut  her  gates  against 
him ;  and  when  he  sent  an  army  to  reduce  the 
town,  it  was  put  ignominiously  to  flight.  Again 
in  1369,  when  the  Emperor  Charles  IV.  sent  a 
force  under  Malatesta  di  Rimini  to  peacefully 
enter  the  city  and  receive  the  nominal  subjec- 
tion of  the  people,  and  Malatesta,  once  admitted, 
proceeded  to  open  the  gates  to  a  large  army 
headed  by  Charles  himself, —  the  citizens  arose  in 
the  night  and  armed  and  ejected  the  whole  of  the 
strangers  precipitously  from  the  town  with  much 
slaughter.  But  at  this  time  Siena  had  ceased  to 
be  Ghibelline  in  feeling  ;  for  her  nobles  were  they 
who  had  upheld  the  Ghibelline  standard,  and  in 
1269,  after  they  had  suffered  a  defeat  from  the 
Guelphs  at  Colle  di  Val  d'  Elsa  and  returned  dis- 
comfited to  the  city,  the  people  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity to  rise  and  eject  them.  All  were  killed  or 
exiled,  and  many  of  their  palaces  torn  to  pieces. 
A  true  democracy  was  instituted,  with  a  govern- 
ing body  of  thirty-six,  taken  from  the  popolo 
grasso,  or  bourgeois ;  this  was  soon  reduced  to 
nine, — the  celebrated  Noveschi,  who  ruled  Siena 
for  two  hundred  years.  These  were  the  palmy 
days  of  the  republic,  when, — although  the  popu- 
lation of  100,000  was  reduced  to  30,000  by  the 
terrible  plague  of  1348,  and  the  bourgeois  fami- 
lies who  obtained  control  of  the  offices  eventually 


244  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

constituted  a  new  and  peculative  nobility,  —  in- 
dustries flourished,  liberty  was  preserved,  and  art, 
new-born,  was  sedulously  cultivated. 

The  reign  of  the  tyrant  came  at  last.  In  1487 
Pandolfo  Petrucci,  a  commoner,  who  had  been 
exiled  by  the  Noveschi,  suddenly  by  night  sur- 
prised the  city  at  the  head  of  a  small  force, 
ejected  the  Noveschi,  and  installed  himself  in  the 
Palazzo  Pubblico.  He  maintained  sole  power  for 
twenty-five  years,  being  styled  the  Magnificent 
from  his  style  of  living  and  his  extensive  patron- 
age of  the  arts,  letters  and  sciences.  Several  of 
his  descendants,  much  weaker  men,  succeeded 
to  his  rule.  Alexandro  Bichi,  who  followed  them, 
was  the  last  of  the  tyrants,  being  murdered  in 
1525 ;  when  the  Noveschi  tried  to  return,  but 
were  driven  off  by  the  people.  Thereupon  the 
great  Emperor  Charles  V.  proceeded  to  occupy 
Siena,  and  his  legate  Mendozza  razed  the  me- 
diaeval towers  of  the  nobles  and  erected  with 
their  stones  a  strong  fortress  in  the  city.  After 
many  severities  he  was  driven  out  in  1552,  and 
the  fortress  pulled  down  with  an  extravagance 

of  Joy- 
Then  came  the  last  and  fatal  chapter  in  the 

annals  of  this  brave  city.  Charles  sent  a  great 
army  under  Marignano,  which  besieged  it  in 
1554,  and  a  year  of  fighting  and  starving  ensued 
which  is  indescribable,  and  unsurpassed  in  his- 
tory. After  the  Sienese  had  lost  most  of  their 


SIENA  245 

men  able  to  bear  arms,  and  their  women  too,  who 
had  worked  and  fought  on  ditch  and  rampart,  — 
after  they  had  ejected  the  aged  and  infirm  and 
all  children  from  their  gates,  to  die  upon  the 
bayonets  of  the  enemy,  —  after  they  had  eaten 
the  last  blade  of  grass  within  the  walls,  —  the 
city  fell.  Amidst  its  ruins  were  left  of  forty 
thousand  inhabitants  but  six  thousand  spectres 
of  humanity ;  and  most  of  these  dragged  their 
protruding  bones  across  the  barren  hills  to  Mon- 
talcino.  The  republic  of  Siena,  after  its  long  and 
glorious  life,  so  full  of  countless  achievements  in 
industry,  science,  art,  liberal  government,  was  an- 
nihilated. Its  ruins,  and  former  territory,  were 
given  to  Cosimo  I.  of  Florence  by  the  Emperor, 
and  remained  a  Medici  possession,  and  a  posses- 
sion of  the  house  of  Lorraine,  till  Napoleon  came 
to  make  them  a  French  department.  After 
Napoleon,  Siena,  slowly  rising  once  more  from 
her  ashes  —  and  it  is  a  wonder  that  she  ever  did 
arise  —  became  Austrian  ;  and  threw  off  this 
final  yoke  in  the  memorable  days  of  1859,  when 
she  was  the  first  city  of  Tuscany  to  proclaim,  by 
a  plebiscite,  her  annexation  to  the  Kingdom  of 
United  Italy. 

Siena  was  always  as  independent  in  her  prac- 
tice of  the  arts  as  in  everything  else,  and  her 
school  of  painting  is  renowned  for  its  individu- 
ality. Its  beginnings  run  back  at  least  as  far  as 
the  twelfth  century,  and  in  the  thirteenth  there 


246  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

was  quite  a  vigorous  production  of  altar-pieces. 
In  the  first  generation  of  the  fourteenth,  Duccio 
di  Buoninsegna  did  his  work,  a  great  master,  the 
true  founder  of  the  Sienese  school  of  the  Re- 
naissance, who  has  often  been  compared  to  his 
contemporary  Giotto,  and  by  some  considered 
his  superior.  Simone  Martine,  of  the  same  gener- 
ation, was  Siena's  other  great  early  master.  Fol- 
lowing them  came  Lippi  Memmi  and  Pietro  and 
Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  who,  with  other  smaller 
men,  occupied  the  middle  of  the  century.  In  the 
third  generation  came  Bartolo  di  Fredi  and  Tad- 
deo  di  Bartolo,  inferior  as  regards  their  pietistic 
work  and  altar-pieces,  but  able  in  large  frescoes 
of  dramatic  action.  Then  there  came  an  extraor- 
dinary decadence;  after  the  Bartolos,  through- 
out all  the  fifteenth  century,  Siena's  painting 
not  merely  stood  still,  but  retroceded.  The  quat- 
trocentists  Vecchietta,  Matteo  di  Giovanni,  Sano 
di  Pietro  and  others,  actually  went  back  to  prim- 
itive Byzantine  style.  It  required  new  blood 
from  without  to  bring  Siena  up  with  the  world's 
progress;  and  this  was  furnished  by  the  Lom- 
bard Antonio  Bazzi,  surnamed  Sodoma,  who 
came  to  the  city  about  1500,  and  with  a  dash  of 
his  magic  brush  consigned  forever  to  the  past 
the  antique  wooden  saints  and  royal  Byzantine 
Madonnas.  He  so  filled  the  place  with  the  pro- 
ducts of  his  genius  that  when  one  thinks  of  Siena 
he  thinks  of  Sodoma.  Two  native  Sienese  at 


SIENA  247 

this  time  developed  great  ability, — Peruzzi,  who 
worked  with  Raphael  at  Rome  and  did  very  little 
for  his  own  city,  and  Beccafumi,  whose  work  is 
decorative  and  pleasing,  but  lacks  the  spark  of 
genius.  In  the  decline  of  painting  which  set  in 
after  this  period  all  over  Italy,  Siena  participated 
so  entirely  that  she  reached  the  bottom  at  a  jump. 
Thus  the  interest  in  her  school  lies  in  the  work 
of  its  trecentists,  and  the  masterpieces  of  So- 
doma. 

It  was  these  bits  of  history  that  I  went  over 
in  my  mind  upon  the  evening  of  my  arrival, 
cognizant  of  the  fact  that  a  knowledge  of  the 
annals  of  a  place  constitutes  the  view-point  from 
which  to  enjoy  it.  And  it  was  therefore  with  in- 
tense interest  that  I  started  out  next  morning  to 
ascertain  the  present  appearance  of  this  city  of 
the  wonderful  past,  and  see  what  structures  are 
left  from  its  former  glories.  Our  excellent  hotel 
was  located  upon  the  Via  Cavour,  the  main 
thoroughfare  of  Siena,  and  down  this  I  started 
for  the  Piazza  di  Campo.  From  an  examination 
of  the  map  it  was  already  evident  to  me  that  the 
city  was  built  upon  three  hills,  or  ridges,  which 
meet  at  the  centre,  where  lies  the  Piazza  di 
Campo.  The  town  is  exactly  the  shape  of  an  in- 
verted Y ;  the  longest  ridge  runs  straight  to  the 
north,  the  others  to  the  southeast  and  southwest. 
Each  ridge  bears  a  main  street  upon  its  back,  — 


248  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  northern,  the  Via  Cavour,  the  southeastern,  the 
Via  Ricasoli,  the  southwestern,  the  Via  di  Citta. 
Smaller  streets  parallel  these  upon  the  slopes  of 
the  ridges,  and  cross-ways  climb  up  to  them  on 
one  side  and  descend  upon  the  other.  The  south- 
western hill  is  higher  than  the  other  two,  and 
flattens  out  upon  the  top  for  some  way  into  a 
kind  of  tableland ;  here  was  the  original  settle- 
ment of  the  town,  and  here  the  great  cathedral 
was  built,  to  look  down  over  the  city.  Upon  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  northern  ridge,  two-thirds 
of  the  way  to  the  city  gate,  lies  the  railroad 
station ;  opposite  upon  the  western  slope  there 
extends  a  considerable  spur  at  right  angles  to 
the  ridge,  flat  upon  the  top.  Upon  this  was  built 
the  fortress  of  Charles  V.  which  the  citizens 
tore  down,  and  a  subsequent  fortress  of  the 
Medici,  remains  of  which  exist  to-day  at  the  end 
of  the  spur  in  the  shape  of  a  high-walled  quad- 
rangular structure  with  huge  bastions  at  the 
corners,  used  as  a  barrack,  and  called  Forte  S. 
Barbara.  From  this  to  the  houses  of  the  Via 
Cavour  the  top  of  the  spur  is  now  covered  with 
beautiful  gardens,  the  public  promenade  or 
"Paseggio  della  Lizza,"  enriched  with  a  fine 
equestrian  monument  to  Garibaldi  surrounded 
with  flower-beds.  Upon  these  gardens  the  back 
of  our  hotel  looked,  its  face  being  on  the  Via 
Cavour,  and  of  them  my  room  commanded  a 
beautiful  prospect,  sweeping  round  to  the  great 


SIENA  249 

striped  dome  and  campanile  of  the  cathedral  upon 
its  hill  to  the  southwest. 

It  was  from  this  point,  then,  that  I  started 
southward  towards  the  Piazza  di  Campo.  The 
Via  Cavour  —  always  from  ancient  times  the  prin- 
cipal artery  of  the  city's  commerce,  because  it 
was  the  road  to  Florence  and  the  north  —  was 
filled  with  a  tide  of  busy  people.  It  lifted  five- 
story  houses  high  above  its  comparatively  narrow 
width  of  fifteen  feet  or  so,  and  curved  sinuously 
from  side  to  side  upon  the  level  of  the  ridge-top, 
—  gentle  undulations,  just  sufficient  to  prevent 
one's  seeing  far  ahead,  to  which  the  stuccoed 
walls  accommodated  themselves  with  grace.  They 
were  not  all  stuccoed;  here  and  there  was  an 
ancient  fagade  of  stone,  worn  by  time,  and  one  or 
two  of  brick.  In  a  few  minutes  a  piazza  opened 
out,  surrounded  with  such  handsome  palaces  that 
I  stopped  in  astonishment.  This  was  the  Piazza 
Salimbeni,  with  the  palazzo  of  that  name  on  the 
east ;  on  the  north  a  heavy  renaissance  fagade 
with  rustica-work  framing  the  windows  ;  on  the 
south  the  Palazzo  Spinocchi  —  now  used  by  the 
postal  service  — another  elegant  renaissance  struc- 
ture, with  fagade  entirely  rusticated,  simple, 
square  windows  in  the  basement  story,  double, 
round-arched  ones  in  the  upper  stories,  and  a  mas- 
sive cornice  from  between  the  consoles  of  which 
sculptured  heads  looked  down.  In  the  centre  of 
the  piazza  was  a  fine  white  marble  monument 


250  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

to  Sallustio  Bandini,  the  drainer  of  the  Sienese 
Maremme.  I  gazed  with  special  interest  at  the 
Palazzo  Salimbeni.  Here,  then,  was  the  home  of 
one  of  those  warring  noble  tribes  that  so  tore  the 
city's  vitals  with  their  internecine  strife  seven 
hundred  years  ago ;  it  was  a  home  worthy  of 
them,  —  tall,  strong,  massive,  yet  graceful,  in  its 
gothic  lines.  In  the  very  high  basement  there 
was  a  single  great  doorway  in  a  pointed  arch  to 
the  left,  and  no  windows  save  little  round-arched 
ones,  heavily  barred,  set  aloft  as  if  in  the  clere- 
story of  a  church ;  above  them  ran  a  line  of 
exquisite,  large,  airy,  gothic  windows,  three  in 
each  arch,  cinquefoil  at  the  top,  with  slender 
marble  mullions ;  above  these  the  little  round- 
arched  openings  again ;  all  surmounted  by  a 
heavy,  bracketed  and  battlemented  parapet.  I 
learned  that  it  had  been  extensively  restored  of 
late  —  as  all  the  Sienese  palaces  have  been  — 
but  that  did  not  detract  from  its  white,  graceful 
beauty,  which  fairly  blazed  in  the  sun. 

Here  the  Via  Cavour  was  filled  with  a  crowd 
of  people,  apparently  bent  on  business.  Car- 
riages dashed  among  them  with  an  abandon  which 
is  a  relic  of  mediaeval  times  ;  for  then,  when  the 
noble  alone  drove,  a  peasant  killed  meant  no  dif- 
ference ;  and  the  horse  still  has  the  right  of  way. 
As  I  went  on,  the  palaces  multiplied  on  each 
side,  adorning  the  street  with  their  massive,  ele- 
gant fagades.  Pretty  shops  filled  the  basements, 


SIENA  251 

from  which  people  poured  in  and  out,  well- 
dressed  people,  who  evidently  had  money  to 
spend.  This  was  all  very  different  from  Perugia, 
or  any  other  mountain  town.  Here  was  a  genu- 
ine city,  with  fine  lofty  buildings,  and  well-paved 
city  streets.  Here  were  evidences  of  modern  in- 
dustry and  business  life,  and  of  the  dress,  com- 
forts, and  luxuries  of  modern  civilization.  The 
side-streets  that  descended  the  slope  on  each 
side  had  not  the  mediaeval  look  of  the  mountain 
towns ;  they  were  straighter,  cleaner,  wider,  faced 
with  stuccoed  dwellings  in  good  repair.  They 
went  under  few  arches,  and  burrowed  through 
but  one  or  two  tunnels. 

It  was  evident  that  Siena  has  in  modern  times 
recovered  quite  thoroughly  from  her  disasters, 
and  is  forging  ahead  as  a  centre  of  industry.  I 
knew  that  her  present  population  of  thirty  thou- 
sand is  increasing  rapidly.  She  presents  the 
appearance  on  her  main  streets  of  a  city  like 
Florence,  or  Genoa,  or  Milan,  rather  than  that 
of  a  hill  town.  I  soon  realized  that  here  I  must 
not  look  for  the  picturesque,  the  ancient,  or  the 
mediaeval,  but  —  as  in  the  larger  cities  —  for  the 
art  of  the  Renaissance ;  although  there  are  a  few 
picturesque  bits  in  the  town,  and  considerable 
gothic,  mediaeval  palace-architecture.  It  was 
natural,  after  all,  that  Siena  should  have  this  se- 
date, citified,  modern  appearance,  in  comparison 
with  the  other  hill  towns ;  for  the  dwellings  that 


252  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

were  left  from  the  old  days  came  down  from  a 
city  of  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants  ;  about 
these,  as  the  town  was  re-created  during  the  last 
two  or  three  centuries,  grew  buildings  of  mod- 
ern construction  ;  and  now  all  the  old  palaces 
have  been  completely  repaired.  Beside  this, 
Siena  has  not  the  mountain-top,  precipitously- 
sided  situation  of  Perugia,  Montepulciano,  Assisi, 
Spello,  Trevi,  or  Spoleto. 

After  leaving  the  Piazza  Salimbeni  some  slight 
remains  of  Siena's  medisevalism  were  visible  in 
the  shape  of  two  truncated  towers  that  raised 
their  stumps  above  the  roof-tops  on  the  left. 
Soon  another  small  piazza  opened  out,  named 
after  the  Palazzo  Tolomei,  fronting  it  upon  the 
right,  —  an  early  gothic  edifice  with  quaint  lions 
gazing  down  from  the  upper  angles  of  its  high 
portals,  and  lions'  heads  surmounting  the  mul- 
lions  of  its  crumbling  trefoil  windows  in  the  up- 
per stories.  In  the  piazza  stood  a  column  bearing 
a  she-wolf  and  twins,  which  probably  stood  there 
when  the  Tolomei  sallied  out  at  night  to  assault 
the  nearby  stronghold  of  the  Salimbeni.  Soon 
after  this  the  Via  Cavour  ended  at  a  beautiful 
loggia  —  the  Casino  dei  Nobili  —  having  gothic 
pillars  and  groining,  with  round  arches,  and  re- 
naissance windows  in  the  upper  story,  which  was 
added  later.  Each  pillar  is  occupied  by  a  marble 
saint  in  a  gothic  niche.  It  was  erected  about  1417 
in  imitation  of  the  Loggia  dei  Lanzi  at  Florence, 


SIENA  253 

and  used  to  be  occupied  by  a  commercial  court 
of  justice.  To  the  right  here  the  Via  di  Citta 
branched  off,  to  climb  its  hill  to  the  southwest, 
and  on  the  left  the  Via  Ricasoli  commenced. 
Just  beside  the  loggia,  however,  a  flight  of  stairs 
descended  through  a  tunnel,  and  following  these, 
I  found  myself  on  the  north  side  of  the  famous 
Piazza,  di  Campo  —  now  cruelly  re-named  Vit- 
torio  Emanuele.  It  has  often  been  compared  in 
shape  to  a  horseshoe,  a  half-moon,  a  sea-shell, 
and  an  amphitheatre.  The  last  seemed  to  me 
the  best  description.  Occupying  the  southern 
side  of  it  —  the  stage  of  the  amphitheatre  — 
rose  the  old  Palazzo  Communale  of  Siena,  with 
two  long  rows  of  graceful,  triple,  gothic  win- 
dows beneath  its  battlemented  roof,  and  the 
Mangia  tower  soaring  from  one  corner  far,  far 
aloft  into  the  deep  blue  sky.  Not  a  window 
pierced  its  long  and  slender  shaft  till  just  beneath 
the  deep  brackets  of  the  parapet,  when  a  single 
eye  looked  out ;  and  from  this  platform  rose  a 
sort  of  high  pavilion  with  a  large  arch,  topped 
by  another  machicolated  parapet  and  a  bell. 
Nothing  can  describe  the  picturesque  majesty  of 
this  edifice  with  its  mighty  spire  launching  its 
battlements  against  the  clouds.  What  recollec- 
tions chase  themselves  across  the  mind  in  looking 
at  it :  here  labored  the  Noveschi  at  their  task  of 
governing  the  turbulent  city,  for  two  hundred 
years,  often  shut  up  during  their  terms  of  office 


254:  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

like  monks  in  a  monastery,  and  suffered  to  go 
out  only  two  at  a  time,  with  a  third  man  to  spy 
upon  them ;  here  rushed  Pandolf o  Petrucci  with 
his  fellow  exiles  on  the  dark  night  of  July  21, 
1487,  and  stormed  the  Noveschi  in  their  guarded 
rooms,  cleaning  out  the  palace  by  a  putting  to 
the  sword  and  a  pitching  out  of  the  windows ; 
here  he  ruled,  and  his  descendants,  and  the 
Spaniards,  and  the  Medici  after  them,  —  and 
the  Medici  shield  of  arms  still  hangs  on  thefagade. 
At  the  foot  of  the  tower  stands  a  beautiful 
white  marble,  renaissance  loggia,  containing  an 
altar,  above  which  is  a  ruined  fresco  by  Sodoma, 
—  the  Cappella  di  Piazza  erected  by  the  surviv- 
ors of  the  great  plague  in  gratitude  for  their 
preservation  ;  too  lovely  a  reminder  of  so  horri- 
ble an  event.  Directly  opposite  from  the  palazzo 
upon  the  northern  rim  of  the  piazza  lies  the 
modern  copy  of  the  famous  Fonte  Gaja.  It  is  a 
marble  basin  of  some  size,  rectangular,  set  into 
the  slope  of  the  piazza  with  sculptured  parapets 
at  the  back  and  right  and  left,  containing  a  num- 
ber of  wolves  that  spout  streams  of  water  from 
their  mouths.  The  original  fountain,  now  in  the 
museum  of  the  Duomo,  was  erected  by  Siena's 
great  sculptor,  Jacopo  della  Quercia,  in  1412- 
1419 ;  and  the  present  bas-reliefs  on  the  parapet 
follow  faithfully  his  once  beautiful  representa- 
tions of  the  Christian  virtues,  the  Creation,  and 
the  Expulsion  from  Eden. 


PALAZZO  COMUXAI.K   AND   MANC.IA   TOWER— SIENA 


SIENA  255 

Standing  before  the  palazzo  I  looked  north- 
ward over  the  piazza,  following  the  course  of  the 
tall  structures  that  line  its  higher,  semi-circular 
rim,  curving  their  level  roofs  about  the  field  at 
a  height  of  five  stories.  The  piazza  is  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  from  north  to  south,  and  five 
hundred  feet  from  east  to  west ;  across  its  old 
brick  pavement,  well  grown  with  grass,  radiate 
eight  lines  of  white  stone  from  the  centre  of 
the  palazzo,  as  if  diffusing  the  power  and  splen- 
dor of  the  ancient  government  to  all  parts  of 
the  city.  And  the  surrounding  palaces  answer 
back  the  splendor,  in  powerful,  well-proportioned 
facades ;  one  to  the  right  carries  three  rows  of 
the  large,  triple,  gothic  windows  across  its  ex- 
tensive front,  surmounting  them  with  battlements 
and  massive  tower ;  to  the  left  is  another  an- 
cient battlemented  house,  over  which  peers  a 
heavy  stone  tower  —  truncated,  like  all  the  rest. 
What  irreparable  damage  Mendoza  did  when  he 
razed  these  many  noble  keeps  ! 

As  I  looked  over  this  historical  field  I  thought 
of  the  countless  struggles  between  nobles,  bour- 
geois, and  common  people  that  used  to  fill  it  with 
noise  and  blood,  the  clangor  of  arms,  the  fierce 
shouts  of  the  multi-colored  partisans,  the  groan- 
ing of  the  wounded,  the  chasing  of  the  defeated 
through  the  tunneled  ways  that  ascend  to  the 
streets  above.  I  thought  of  the  Sienese  return- 
ing triumphant  here  from  their  great  victory  of 


256  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Montaperto,  laden  with  spoils,  waving  banners 
and  crucifixes  captured  from  the  enemy,  and 
dragging  the  celebrated  Caroccio.  There  must 
have  been  such  a  jubilation  as  the  old  city  never 
saw  before  or  since.  Then  I  thought  of  the 
counter-scene, —  of  the  miserable,  starving  people 
crawling  along  that  ancient  brick  pavement  in  the 
awful  siege  of  1555,  scratching  its  cracks  with 
their  finger-nails  for  a  blade  of  grass  to  eat. 

Here  is  held  every  August  the  celebrated  festa 
of  the  Sienese,  —  the  Palio,  —  when  those  circling 
fagades  are  lined  with  seats  like  a  true  amphi- 
theatre, and  all  Siena  crowds  upon  them  and  leans 
from  window,  balcony,  and  parapet ;  when  twenty 
thousand  peasants  throng  the  central  enclosure. 
Then  marches  around  the  unique  procession  of 
companies  from  each  of  the  seventeen  wards  of 
the  city,  attired  in  mediaeval  fashion  as  heralds, 
pages,  flag-bearers,  and  soldiers,  each  company 
attending  its  steed  that  is  to  race,  and  all  fol- 
lowed by  the  Caroccio.  Then  comes  the  race 
itself,  a  heart-rending  contest  between  these 
seventeen  ancient  wards,  whose  steeds  are  every- 
day work-horses,  and  whose  jockeys  are  every- 
day young  citizens.  The  horses  tear  round  and 
round  the  piazza  amidst  the  deafening  shouts  of 
the  multitude,  and  the  victor  is  the  city  hero  for 
a  year. 

Returning  to  the  Casino  dei  Nobili  I  followed 
the  Via  di  Citta  till  it  began  to  ascend  the  hill 


SIENA  257 

of  the  southwest  quarter,  and  then  took  a  side 
street  to  the  right  that  led  to  the  foot  of  the 
Duomo.  Here  was  a  little  piazza,  faced  on  the 
west  by  the  lofty  rear  of  the  cathedral,  which 
is  of  unusual  height  because  it  stands  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill  above,  and  which  is  adorned 
like  an  ordinary  church's  fagade.  In  its  crypt  is 
the  Baptistery,  or  church  of  S.  Giovanni.  On  the 
south  of  the  little  piazza  rises  the  crumbling 
palazzo  of  Pandolfo  the  Magnificent,  a  huge, 
stuccoed  structure  fast  falling  to  decay.  Between 
it  and  the  cathedral  climbs  a  high  flight  of  steps 
to  the  hill-top  on  the  west,  the  route  to  the 
fagade  of  the  Duomo.  I  entered  first  the  Bap- 
tistery, which  is  a  beautiful  structure,  so  lofty  as 
not  to  seem  like  a  crypt,  having  a  groined  ceiling 
completely  covered  with  painted  traceries  and 
supported  by  two  fine  gothic  pillars.  Here  in 
the  centre  I  found  the  famous  font  executed  by 
the  best  sculptors  of  the  Renaissance  j  its  hex- 
agonal bronze  base  having  bas-reliefs  and  statu- 
ettes by  Jacopo  della  Quercia  (who  designed  the 
whole)  and  Donatello  and  Lorenzo  di  Ghiberti. 
It  was  a  great  delight  to  examine  this  wonder- 
ful work.  The  reliefs  portrayed  such  animated 
scenes  as  John  the  Baptist  first  brought  before 
Herod,  and  his  head  carried  on  the  salver  to 
Herod  at  the  dining-table.  The  grouping,  the 
individual  grace,  action,  and  expression,  were 
powerful  and  lifelike. 


258  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

After  some  study  of  this  I  took  the  steps  at 
the  left,  and  emerged  upon  the  hill-top  through 
a  beautiful  gothic  doorway  in  a  detached  wall, 
surrounded  by  enormous  gothic  columns  stand- 
ing about  without  visible  purpose.  These  are 
the  ruins  of  the  tremendous  nave  for  the  cathe- 
dral, to  the  building  of  which  the  plague  put  a 
stop ;  so  that  the  present  Duomo  was  intended 
as  a  transept  only.  I  could  get  an  idea  of  the 
size  which  the  nave  would  have  had  from  the 
single  arch  of  it  which  was  erected,  a  magnificent 
structure,  with  beautiful  gothic  windows  and  de- 
tails, towering  aloft  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet. 
The  present  cathedral,  which  lay  to  right  of  me 
on  emerging  from  the  stairs,  with  fa9ade  to  the 
southwest,  is  large  enough  as  it  is,  having  a 
length  of  about  one  hundred  yards  and  a  width 
of  twenty-six  yards.  I  walked  about  to  examine 
the  fagade,  following  the  piazza  which  extends 
from  the  front  around  to  this  southern  side. 
The  first  view  was  so  dazzling  as  to  require  a 
shutting  of  the  eyes.  A  thousand  beautiful  white 
sculptures  radiated  back  the  bright  sunlight, 
running  all  over  the  vast  fagade  in  a  perfect 
riot  of  grace  and  beauty.  No  church  facade  is 
so  genuinely  stunning  to  the  observer  at  first 
glance,  unless  we  except  that  of  Orvieto.  Three 
great  recessed  portals  bear  aloft  the  circular 
window  and  airy  gothic  arcades  at  each  side ; 
and  surmounting  these  are  three  gables  filled 


SIENA  259 

with  rich  modern  Venetian  mosaic,  flashing  down 
their  warmer  colors  over  the  pure  white  of  the 
marble.  The  sculptured  saints  and  animals  frame 
the  window  in  great  profusion,  spread  themselves 
all  about  the  portals,  and  cling  to  the  tapering, 
aerial  buttresses  with  their  pointed  niches  and 
spires.  No  trace  exists  on  the  facade  of  the  al- 
ternate courses  of  dark  and  light  stone  that  con- 
stitute the  sides  and  campanile,  except  in  the  bases 
of  the  buttresses.  The  campanile  alone  is  a  thing 
of  wondrous  beauty.  It  soars  far  aloft, — the  high- 
est point  in  the  city,  —  square  and  trim,  yet  seem- 
ing to  taper  and  grow  ever  lighter  as  it  mounts, 
because  of  the  windows  widening  arch  by  arch 
and  column  by  column  with  each  additional  story. 
Close  beside  it  rises  the  huge  dome,  upon  an 
open  colonnade  of  slender  columns,  supporting 
a  delicate,  airy  cupola. 

I  mounted  the  steps  that  spread  about  the 
Duomo  on  all  sides,  and  entered  to  get  a  general 
view  of  the  interior.  This  I  knew  well  by  repute 
to  be  one  of  the  richest  in  Christendom,  but 
nothing  could  prepare  one  for  its  unparalleled 
lavishness  of  decoration.  Like  the  facade,  it  is 
not  pure  gothic,  and  one  is  not  seized  with  the 
inspiration  of  soaring,  aspiring  lines  ;  but  one  is 
dazzled  again  by  the  infinite  multiplicity  of  beau- 
tiful detail  wherever  the  eye  can  reach.  The  first 
sensation  is  one  of  positive  bewilderment  of 
riches.  The  great  clustered  gothic  pillars  stretch 


260  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

down  the  long  nave  with  alternate  courses  of 
black  and  white,  topped  by  gleaming  white  gothic 
capitals,  carrying  round  arches  whose  soffits  are 
elegantly  coffered,  and  surmounted  by  a  cornice 
from  between  whose  consoles  a  hundred  sculp- 
tured papal  heads  look  down ;  black  and  white 
lines  of  marble  seem  to  radiate  all  over  the  walls 
of  the  nave,  dome,  transept,  and  choir;  the 
groined  ceilings  of  nave  and  aisles  shower  down 
a  perfect  wealth  of  minute  glistening  traceries ; 
and  countless  sculptures  flash  white  their  grace- 
ful figures  from  elegant  renaissance  side-altars. 
Great  frescoes  glow  softly  from  the  curving  apse 
so  far  away,  before  which  a  flock  of  fairy-like 
angels  seems  to  flit,  alighting  in  bronze  with  wav- 
ing tapers  upon  the  pillars  and  high  altar  of  the 
choir.  One  gazes  and  gazes  at  this  vast,  orderly 
confusion  of  beauty,  whose  graceful  lines  and 
glowing  tones  run  indefinitely  from  arch  to  arch, 
from  column  to  column,  from  pavement  to  ceil- 
ing, unable  to  rest  the  eye  upon  a  single  adorn- 
ment, so  helplessly  is  it  circled  about.  And  the 
pavement  itself  is  a  world  of  beauty,  a  tremen- 
dous mosaic  of  a  hundred  pictures  and  a  thousand 
designs,  carrying  its  gleaming  scenes  of  grace 
and  color  everywhere  through  the  maze  of  pillars, 
arches,  chapels,  and  dome.  Upon  it  labored  four 
hundred  years  ago  the  greatest  masters  of  Siena, 
and  even  Pietro  Perugino ;  and  so  precious  is  it 
that  the  most  beautiful  pictures  —  in  the  nave  — 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  CATHEDRAL  — SIENA 


SIENA  261 

are  kept  covered  with  a  wooden  flooring,  which 
is  removed  only  on  certain  occasions. 

Knowing  that  it  would  take  half  a  day  to  ex- 
amine the  countless  treasures  of  art  that  the 
Duomo  contains,  and  feeling  that  this  first  won- 
derful impression  was  all  that  my  mind  could 
hold  at  present,  I  resumed  my  initial  wandering 
through  the  town.  From  the  southeastern  angle 
of  the  piazza,  in  front  of  the  cathedral,  a  street 
leads  straight  on  in  that  direction,  —  the  Via  del 
Capitano,  —  keeping  the  level  of  the  hill-top.  I 
followed  it  between  the  Palazzo  Reale  on  the 
left,  now  the  Prefecture,  and  the  Palazzo  Pecci 
on  the  right.  The  latter  is  one  of  the  finest 
gothic  secular  structures  with  which  the  streets 
of  Siena  are  lined ;  built  as  early  as  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  of  course  restored,  it  carries  above 
a  ponderous  stone  basement  an  airy  second  story 
of  brick-work  with  a  line  of  trrole  gothic  win- 
dows having  white  marble  mullions,  and  above 
that  a  battlemented  brick  parapet.  Close  beyond 
opens  out  the  little  Piazza  Postierla,  with  the 
city's  emblem  on  a  column,  and  the  massive 
Palazzo  Chigi  on  the  right.  This  is  the  central 
point  of  the  southwestern  quarter;  here  comes 
up  the  Via  di  Citta  from  the  Piazza  di  Campo, 
continuing  westward  under  another  name ;  and 
the  Via  del  Capitano,  which  I  had  been  follow- 
ing from  the  Duomo,  keeps  on  to  the  south  un- 
der the  name  of  Via  di  San  Pietro,  leading  to 


262  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  church  of  S.  Pietro  alle  Scale,  whose  steps  I 
could  see  at  the  end  of  it. 

I  turned  to  the  left  and  descended  the  Via  di 
Citta,  noticing  at  once  that  it  was  more  loftily 
built  with  palaces  than  any  other  street.  They 
piled  up  grim  and  magnificent  on  each  hand, 
eloquent  reminders  of  the  wealth  that  Siena  once 
possessed,  and  how  it  was  mainly  held  hy  her 
nobles.  Here  was  the  Nerucci  on  the  left,  of 
rusticated  light  gray  granite,  a  large,  powerful 
renaissance  structure  with  elegant  corniced  win- 
dows. Here  was  the  Saracini,  at  a  bend  of  the 
street  on  the  right,  a  tremendous  gothic  build- 
ing of  smooth-faced  stone,  having  the  usual  row 
of  simple  pointed  arches  for  doorways  on  the 
ground  story,  and  two  rows  of  the  triple,  airy 
windows  above,  with  delicate  white  marble  mul- 
lions.  When  not  there  it  is  hard  to  realize  how 
these  great  palaces  hang  over  the  narrow  dark- 
ening street  below,  menacing  with  their  stern 
portals,  smiling  above  with  their  light  grace, 
frowning  down  again  on  the  top  with  heavy 
cornice  or  battlement.  Reaching  the  bottom 
of  the  short  hill,  and  passing  the  Casino  dei 
Nobili,  I  went  for  a  short  way  down  the  south- 
eastern quarter  of  the  Via  Ricasoli;  and  here 
was  the  finest  renaissance  palace  of  the  city,  — 
•  the  Palazzo  del  Governo.  For  absolute  grace  and 
harmony  of  lines  I  have  never  seen  its  superior. 
The  facade  is  gently  rusticated  and  free  from 


SIENA  263 

adornment,  other  than  the  little  iron  brackets  for 
hanging  shields  and  holding  flag-poles,  which 
every  palace  shows ;  the  beauty  lies  in  the  per- 
fect proportion  of  opening  to  the  solid,  and  the 
disposition  of  the  arched  windows  and  string- 
courses. As  in  all  perfect  renaissance  buildings, 
it  tapers  from  massive  strength  in  the  basement 
to  graceful  lightness  above,  surmounted  by  a 
cornice  so  delicately  balanced  in  size  and  detail 
as  neither  to  crush  the  airiness  nor  dispel  the 
strength.  In  such  a  cornice  is  the  crucial  test  of 
the  architect's  power ;  and  Bernardo  Rossellini, 
who  designed  this  building  in  1469,  deserves  a 
crown  of  glory  as  great  as  most  of  the  mixers 
of  color. 

Just  beyond  the  Palazzo  del  Governo  —  which 
contains  the  extensive  and  interesting  archives 
of  Siena  —  stands  another  ornamental  loggia, 
erected  by  Pius  II.,  who  overspread  Siena  with 
his  magnificence  almost  as  thoroughly  as  he  did 
Pienza.  The  Piccolomini  seem  to  have  been  the 
most  important  people  in  this  whole  region  in 
mediaeval  and  renaissance  times,  and  he  was  the 
greatest  man  of  the  family.  This  loggia  of  his  is 
unadorned  with  sculpture,  but  is  graceful  and  or- 
namental in  simple  renaissance  lines.  Adjacent 
is  the  dull  fagade  of  the  church  of  S.  Martino. 
Resolving  to  investigate  its  interior  at  another 
time,  I  returned  to  the  Via  Cavour  and  the  hotel, 
laden  with  a  thousand  delightful  impressions. 


264  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

During  the  weeks  that  followed,  it  was  a  never- 
ceasing  delight  to  go  over  the  different  parts  of 
this  route  again  and  again  —  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  do  to  reach  the  Campo,  or  Duomo,  or  the 
southeastern  quarter — seeing  the  hundred  beauti- 
ful palace  fayades  with  unremitting  interest.  The 
days  were  a  pleasure  from  the  first  hour  of  morn- 
ing, when  I  threw  open  my  blinds  on  the  Paseg- 
gio  della  Lizza  to  inhale  the  freshness  of  its  trees 
and  flowers,  and  watch  the  rising  sun  —  bathing 
the  bright  dome  and  campanile  of  the  Duomo  to 
the  south  —  pour  over  the  intervening  house-tops 
upon  the  rich  foliage  about  Forte  S.  Barbara. 
And  the  pleasure  continued  —  a  delight  of  grace- 
ful lines,  beautiful  colors,  and  historic  places  — 
till  I  came  home  toward  sunset  by  the  Via 
Cavour,  past  the  monumental  palaces  of  the  Tolo- 
mei,  the  Palmieri,  the  Bichi,  the  Spanocchi,  and  the 
Salimbeni.  Wonderful  people  indeed  were  those 
old  Sienese  who  built  such  private  structures  and 
such  a  public  palace,  who  so  adorned  their  city 
with  costly  loggias,  fountains,  and  statuary,  who 
undertook  the  greatest  cathedral  in  the  world,  and 
built  one  that  a  nation  to-day  would  shrink  from 
attempting.  They  built  many  fine  churches  also, 
which  He  more  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  city ;  in 
some  way  they  nearly  always  neglected  to  add 
the  facade  or  to  face  them  at  all,  so  that  the  edi- 
fices stand  naked  and  ugly  without,  of  rough,  un- 
painted  bricks,  but  the  interiors  are  full  of  beauty 
and  art  treasures. 


SIENA  265 

Before  visiting  these  treasures,  or  those  of  the 
Palazzo  Communale  and  Duomo,  I  took  pains 
first  to  examine  the  collection  of  the  Institute 
of  Beaux  Arts,  -where  a  great  many  of  the  works 
of  Siena's  masters  are  arranged  in  careful  chrono- 
logical order,  thus  affording  opportunity  to  learn 
how  they  progressed  step  by  step  and  retroceded. 
The  Institute  stands  on  the  street  named  after 
it,  which  leads  to  the  west  under  an  archway 
from  the  Piazza  Salimbeni,  and  falls  down  the 
slope  of  the  ridge.  It  was  founded  in  1816,  and 
much  enlarged  after  1860  by  canvases  taken  from 
the  Palazzo  Communale  and  suppressed  monas- 
teries. The  first  room  contains  a  most  interest- 
ing collection  of  works  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
before  the  coming  of  Duccio  and  Martine ;  they 
are,  of  course,  altar-pieces,  but  one  is  instantly 
struck  by  the  remarkable  dramatic  action  that 
they  display.  Here  are  the  Byzantine  Madonnas 
such  as  the  rest  of  Italy  was  then  fashioning,  — 
wooden,  bedecked  empresses  with  oblique  eyes 
seated  on  oriental  thrones;  but  here  are  also 
scenes  from  the  lives  of  saints  and  martyrs,  full  of 
figures  that  pray,  talk,  run  and  fight,  and  display 
many  poignant  emotions.  These  figures  are  some- 
what stiff  in  their  movements  and  out  of  pro- 
portion in  their  bodies,  but  their  faces  have  not 
the  Byzantine  look  —  the  countenances  are  quite 
natural.  The  grouping  is  unbalanced,  the  archi- 
tecture is  ridiculous,  perspective  and  atmosphere 


266  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

and  tone  are  wanting;  yet  the  quaint  pictures 
tell  their  stories  remarkably  well.  Evidently  Si- 
ena's independent  school  at  this  first  epoch  was 
well  ahead  of  the  rest  of  Italy,  which  waited 
for  Giotto  to  introduce  the  dramatic.  Another 
thing  is  evident :  the  Byzantine  oblique  eyes, 
razor  nose,  little  pursed-up  mouth  with  thin  lips, 
and  stiffly  bent  head  of  the  Madonna  of  this 
period  (which  type  the  Sienese  kept  for  cen- 
turies) were  not  the  result  of  inability  to  draw 
better ;  therefore  it  must  have  been  a  developed, 
set  type  from  the  theory  that  the  holy  face  should 
not  be  treated  like  an  ordinary  human  coun- 
tenance, but  should  have  a  different,  ideal,  un- 
altering  appearance.  The  early  Sienese  surely 
thought  this  ;  they  became  accustomed  to  pray- 
ing to  this  Madonna  upon  the  altars  of  their 
churches,  and  refused  to  recognize  her  under  any 
other  form. 

This  can  be  seen  in  the  works  of  Duccio, 
which  follow.  His  genius  and  great  advance 
over  preceding  painters  are  shown  in  the  figures 
of  his  saints,  which  are  correctly  drawn  and  mod- 
eled, with  lifelike  faces  full  of  character.  He  ap- 
plied his  good  drawing  also  to  dramatic  scenes, 
developing  balance  and  grace  both  in  grouping 
and  individual  figures  ;  but  he  kept  the  Byzantine 
Madonna.  Martine's  works  also  show  the  develop- 
ment of  grace  and  balance  and  modeling ;  but 
he  kept  the  Byzantine  Madonna.  Memmi,  in 


SIENA  267 

the  next  generation,  and  the  Lorenzetti  adhered 
to  her  tenaciously,  although  the  latter  developed 
still  further  the  scene  of  dramatic  action.  The 
Bartolos  in  the  third  generation,  and  all  the 
masters  of  the  fifteenth  century,  clung  to  the 
Byzantine  Madonna.  It  is  no  wonder  that  she 
became  the  one  type  associated  with  Sienese 
painting.  My  Lady,  however,  whether  alone  or 
in  her  "Majestas"  surrounded  by  saints  and 
angels,  is  here  an  idiosyncracy.  We  look  for 
the  development  of  Sienese  painting  on  other 
lines,  —  the  sphere  of  story-telling  and  action.  I 
afterwards  found  that  the  Institute  was  not  the 
place  to  ascertain  the  true  merits  of  the  masters, 
because  Duccio's  masterpiece  is  in  the  Opera  del 
Duomo,  and  those  of  Martine,  Ambrogio  Loren- 
zetti, and  Taddeo  Bartolo  are  in  the  Palazzo  Com- 
munale.  We  must  bear  those  chefs  d'ceuvre  in 
mind  when  thinking  of  them.  Duccio  is  often 
paralleled  to  Giotto,  to  whom  it  can  easily  be  seen 
that  he  is  equal  in  the  exposition  of  dramatic 
action,  but  inferior  in  drawing  and  grace.  Mar- 
tine  was  not  equal  to  either  in  the  dramatic,  but 
he  almost  equals  Giotto  in  grace  and  beauty. 
Memmi  possessed  these  same  attributes,  with  a 
developed  soft,  deep,  flesh-coloring  which  —  in 
spite  of  the  eyes  of  his  holy  persons  being  set  so 
high  in  the  forehead  as  to  be  unnatural — really 
made  his  Madonnas  and  angels  quite  charming. 
He  was  not  a  story-teller,  and  confined  his  efforts 


268  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

to  the  elaboration  of  gilded  detail.  The  advance 
in  the  portrayal  of  action  came  with  the  Loren- 
zetti, who  bettered  Duccio  in  lif  elikeness,  natural 
grouping,  posing,  and  easy  movement,  and  devel- 
oped perspective,  architecture,  and  general  back- 
ground work.  Here  in  the  Institute  I  found  what 
is  one  of  the  earliest  —  if  not  the  earliest  —  pure 
landscape,  by  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti :  a  little  panel 
representing  fields,  trees,  a  lake,  a  castle,  and 
mountains  beyond.  There  is  in  its  quaintness 
true  atmosphere  and  perspective,  but  the  inabil- 
ity of  the  period  to  portray  a  general  effect  is 
noticed  in  the  absence  of  grass.  If  the  trecen- 
tists, and  most  of  the  quattrocentists,  wanted  to 
show  a  grassy  field,  their  only  idea  was  to  paint 
each  individual  blade. 

In  the  third  generation  Bartolo  di  Fredi  fell 
behind  the  Lorenzetti  in  lifelikeness,  and,  like 
Memmi  before  him,  gave  his  attention  to  detail 
in  halos  and  garments ;  but  Taddeo  di  Bartolo, 
though  retroceding  generally  in  his  individual 
figures,  showed  by  his  wonderful  frescoes  in  the 
Palazzo  Communale,  that  he  kept  up  the  Sienese 
tradition  of  story-telling  and  added  to  the  dra- 
matic realism  of  the  Lorenzetti  a  warm  tone  and 
realistic,  significant  expression  of  countenance. 
After  him  the  tradition  perished,  and  the  Byzantine 
Madonna  reigned  alone.  So  thoroughly  did  she 
impregnate  the  minds  of  the  decadent  quattrocen- 
tists of  Siena  that  their  saints  and  angels  also 


SIENA  269 

lapsed  into  the  Byzantine,  and — after  a  century 
of  the  realism  of  Duccio,  the  Lorenzetti,  and  Tad- 
deo  di  Bartolo  —  resumed  their  wooden  attitudes 
about  gilded  thrones.  Of  these  quattrocentists 
Sano  di  Pietro  —  called  the  Fra  Angelico  of  Si- 
ena, although  he  had  none  of  the  Beato's  versa- 
tility, power  of  drawing,  and  expression  —  is  the 
most  interesting ;  because,  in  spite  of  his  Byzan- 
tinism,  his  holy  beings  have  enough  beauty  of 
graceful  lines  and  gorgeous  color  to  charm  as  a 
richly  embroidered  garment  charms. 

In  progressing  chronologically  through  these 
rooms  of  the  Institute,  it  is  a  vast  delight  to 
have  Sodoma  appear  upon  the  scene  at  last.  He 
does  so,  suddenly,  in  a  small,  rich  canvas  of 
warm,  golden  tone  that  is  enough  to  take  the 
breath  away.  What  a  mighty  gulf  we  jump  to 
this  wonderful  Madonna,  simply  bending  over 
her  child,  an  unbedecked,  natural  mother,  with- 
out throne,  or  gold,  or  majesty  !  Yet  she  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  all.  Here  is  the  ideal  of  grace, 
sweetness,  gentleness,  expression,  yet  with  real- 
ism of  drawing,  attitude,  and  gesture ;  and  here 
are  the  new  ideas  that  reanimated  and  comple- 
mented the  art,  —  tone  and  light  and  shadow. 
The  soft  shadows  play  over  the  beautiful  face 
of  the  Madonna  with  an  allurement  that  is  posi- 
tively bewitching,  Sodoma  very  often  took  no 
pains,  but  here  every  line  is  drawn  with  won- 
drous skill,  and  the  moulding  of  the  Madonna's 


270  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

bust,  rounding  visibly  toward  the  spectator  with- 
out his  being  able  to  see  how  it  is  done,  is  a  mar- 
vel of  art.  In  Sodoma's  celebrated  Flagellation 
of  the  Saviour  here  he  displays  the  same  skill  of 
execution ;  also  in  his  great  Descent  from  the 
Cross,  in  another  room.  This  last  picture  is  such  a 
perfection  of  painting  that  one  cannot  find  how 
it  could  be  improved,  save,  possibly,  in  the  land- 
scape background. 

Pinturicchio  is  here,  in  two  small  panels  of  the 
Holy  Family  possessing  the  true  Umbrian  spirit 
and  qualities,  and  in  a  large  fresco  that  is  surpris- 
ingly poor.  His  masterpieces  are  in  the  cathe- 
dral. And  Beccaf umi  is  here  also,  —  a  singular 
artist,  who  could  draw  exquisitely,  who  learned 
from  Sodoma  tone  and  light  and  shadow,  but 
who  generally  neglected  the  tone  and  handled 
the  light  and  color  so  flatly  as  to  be  displeasing. 
In  the  large  room  is  his  extraordinary  "  interior  " 
picture,  —  one  of  the  first  realistic  interiors  with 
light  and  shadow ;  it  was  a  single  flash  of  genius. 
There  are  two  rooms  portrayed,  one  beyond  the 
other,  each  with  an  unseen  window  whose  light 
falls  gently,  imperceptibly,  through  the  dusk,  in 
an  atmosphere  so  real  that  one  can  feel  it.  The 
Nativity  is  taking  place  in  the  first  chamber, 
and  beyond,  in  the  second  one,  St.  Joseph  can 
be  dimly  seen  through  the  open  doorway  waiting 
in  anxiety  for  the  news,  —  that  news  which  was 
to  change  the  whole  wide  world  forever  after. 


DESCENT  FROM  THE  CROSS,   BY  SODOMA  — SIENA 


CHAPTER  XI 

SIENA  (continued) 

THE  old  Palazzo  Communale  is  a  rambling  struc- 
ture within.  It  is  really  gothic  and  mediaeval  in 
its  dark  corridors  that  wander  about  without  ap- 
parent intent,  and  winding  massive  stairways  that 
climb  to  parts  unknown.  But  the  suite  of  large 
state-rooms  upon  the  first  floor  (or  second  story) 
is  definite.  Four  of  them  front  upon  the  Piazza 
di  Campo,  and  two  of  them  upon  the  rear,  with 
a  small  chapel  in  the  centre.  I  went  there  one 
morning,  after  having  been  through  the  Institute 
des  Beaux  Arts,  to  see  the  masterpieces  of  the 
trecentists.  Apparently  these  rooms  are  used  for 
nothing  now  but  show-places,  —  and  they  could 
have  no  better  use  than  the  preservation  of  good 
art ;  but  once  the  Noveschi  held  sway  here,  in 
those  good  old  days  when  public  office  was  a 
public  trust.  In  the  larger  of  these  two  back 
chambers  they  used  to  sit  in  state  behind  their 
judicial  bench  at  the  east  end,  once  a  week,  and 
listen  to  the  prayers  of  their  fellow-citizens,  who 
flocked  in  to  ask  relief  from  exaction  and  redress 
from  wrong.  The  large  triple  gothic  windows 


272  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

looked  out  then  upon  the  houses  of  Siena  filling 
the  wide  ravine  between  the  southern  ridges,  — 
a  vast  undulating  mass  of  roofs  sweeping  along 
the  slopes  of  the  two  hills  and  piling  up  in  the 
vale,  stretching  off  to  the  city  walls  far  helow. 
Those  walls  still  stand,  dwellings  and  churches 
still  line  the  ridges,  but  between  and  below  there 
is  naught  but  grassy  meadows.  The  adjacent 
smaller  room,  called  the  Hall  of  the  Nine,  is  where 
the  Noveschi  sat  about  a  long  table  in  consul- 
tation and  labor.  That  was  six  hundred  years 
ago.  How  short  is  man's  life  in  comparison  with 
the  duration  of  his  works ! 

Above  the  bench  in  the  court-room  is  Mar- 
tine's  great  fresco, —  a  colossal  "Majestas."  It 
is  so  worn  and  defaced  in  places  that  its  pristine 
beauty  is  hard  to  realize ;  but  the  faces  of  the 
angels  near  the  Madonna  are  preserved,  and  are  of 
exquisite  grace  and  soft  flesh-coloring.  The  coun- 
tenances generally  of  the  large  crowd  of  angels 
and  saints  are  remarkably  natural  for  a  pietistic 
work  of  that  period.  It  is  a  monumental  fresco ; 
it  is  impressive  from  its  vast  size  and  the  hundred 
figures  with  gilded  heads  that  throng  about  the 
throne ;  and  it  is  graceful  from  the  careful  balance 
of  the  throng. 

In  the  Sala  dei  Nove,  or  smaller  room,  are  Am- 
brogio  Lorenzetti's  great  frescoes,  representing 
the  Ideal  State,  Good  Government,  and  Bad  Gov- 
ernment. The  last  two  are  much  defaced;  the 


SIENA  273 

first,  and  most  important,  is  fortunately  fairly  well 
preserved ;  each  occupies  a  whole  wall,  above  the 
wainscoting.  The  Ideal  State  is  represented,  first 
as  the  female  personification  of  Justice,  with  her 
scales  in  which  the  deserts  of  each  citizen  are 
weighed,  meting  out  punishment  to  the  bad  and 
rewards  to  the  good  ;  secondly  as  a  king  in  state 
upon  his  throne,  with  the  sword  of  power  in  his 
hand,  surrounded  by  six  female  figures  upon  a 
bench  personifying  the  virtues  of  a  well-governed 
community.  Below  all  this  is  a  crowd  of  good 
citizens  marching  soberly  on  the  left,  and  a  group 
of  malefactors  guarded  by  soldiers  on  the  right. 
It  is  all  a  very  charming  allegory,  —  extensive, 
monumental,  yet  simple  and  graceful.  Where  in 
this  is  the  Byzantinism  of  the  pietistic  work  of 
that  time  ?  It  is  absent.  These  forms,  faces,  and 
attitudes  are  quite  natural,  with  easy  movements ; 
the  execution,  especially  in  the  figures  of  the  citi- 
zens (in  their  interesting  dress  of  the  period)  is 
remarkably  fine.  And  here  is  the  celebrated  fig- 
ure of  Peace,  apparently  a  Grecian  maiden,  laurel- 
wreathed,  reclining  on  her  arm.  Where,  indeed, 
did  she  come  from,  —  this  incarnation  of  the 
Renaissance  ?  She  might  have  stepped,  as  has 
been  said,  from  some  ancient  Greek  bas-relief  to 
bring  enlightenment  to  these  mediaeval  Sienese, 
who  were  at  this  time  struggling  savagely  with 
their  brothers  of  Florence  and  Perugia,  and  liv- 
ing at  home  in  such  squalor  that  the  plague  very 
soon  nearly  annihilated  them. 


274  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

In  the  chapel  are  Taddeo  di  Bartolo's  chief 
frescoes,  representing  the  Burial  of  the  Virgin, 
and  her  Assumption.  These  are  also  large  com- 
positions, filled  with  dramatic  action  of  a  high 
order,  especially  in  the  animated  faces  and  ges- 
tures of  the  apostles  and  friends.  And  the  latter 
picture  has  a  wonderful  background  of  dusky 
hills  against  a  golden  sunset  sky,  from  which  the 
shadows  of  eventide  spread  along  the  vales  and 
envelop  the  group  in  the  foreground,  —  an  inspi- 
ration of  extraordinary  force  and  beauty. 

From  these  frescoes  we  can  see  exactly  how 
Siena  held  to  and  developed  the  idea  of  dra- 
matic action  on  a  large  scale  all  through  the  four- 
teenth century,  executing  her  scenes  with  power, 
realism,  and  expression.  In  these  rooms  are  also 
some  smaller  pictures  by  Sodoma  and  the  quattro- 
centists.  The  four  front  rooms  of  the  suite,  look- 
ing upon  the  Piazza  through  large  pointed  win- 
dows approached  by  steps,  contain  some  elaborate 
ceiling  frescoes  by  Beccafumi  at  his  best,  and 
some  finely  finished  modern  frescoes  illustrating 
events  in  the  life  of  Victor  Emmanuel.  Here  I 
saw  in  a  glass  case  a  uniform  worn  by  Victor 
Emmanuel  in  the  stormy  days  of  the  War  of 
Unification ;  nothing  so  spans  the  years  for  an 
observer  as  such  a  relic  of  personality,  and  in 
looking  at  it  Solferino  and  Magenta  seemed  but 
as  yesterday.  I  went  down  to  the  ground  floor 
of  the  palace,  where  amongst  the  city  archives  of 


SIENA  275 

to-day,  in  small  but  lofty  rooms  filled  with  desks 
and  cases  and  clerks  working  busily,  an  official 
showed  me  some  Madonnas  by  Vecchietta,  Sano 
di  Pietro,  and  Sodoma.  Then  I  went  around  to 
the  open  space  just  in  the  rear  of  the  palace, 
in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  many  pillared,  new, 
brick  vegetable  market ;  and  there  the  Palazzo 
Communale  frowned  down  more  forbiddingly 
than  in  front,  rising  to  a  greater  height,  with  a 
hundred  windows  irregularly  set, — fierce  gratings 
in  the  basement  stories  like  a  giant's  teeth,  and 
wide  loggia  at  the  top  for  a  forehead. 

I  was  now  ready  to  visit  the  interior  of  the 
cathedral  at  detail,  and  it  was  a  full  morning's 
work  to  inspect  its  treasures  even  casually.  Here, 
however,  were  not  works  of  the  native  masters  to 
be  studied,  save  in  sculpture ;  for  in  the  painting 
an  outsider  is  chief,  and  all  in  all.  Pinturrichio 
came  to  Siena  in  1502,  when  Pandolfo  the  Mag- 
nificent was  lording  it  over  his  fellow-citizens  and 
encouraging  the  adornment  of  the  city,  and  filled 
the  library  of  the  Duomo  with  a  series  of  great 
frescoes  illustrating  the  life  of  Pius  II.  The  li- 
brary opens  off  from  the  left  aisle  near  the  tran- 
sept ;  but  before  entering  it  I  made  the  round  of 
the  cathedral  proper.  It  was  again  a  bewilderment 
to  be  so  surrounded  by  beautiful  things  as  not  to 
know  which  way  to  turn,  or  how  to  resolve  the 
glittering  whole  into  its  component  parts.  Here 
was  the  pavement  under  foot  requiring  and  repay- 


276  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

ing  minute  inspection,  —  covered  in  the  centre, 
it  is  true,  but  uncovered  in  the  aisles  and  tran- 
septs, where  beautiful  female  figures  and  huge 
scenes  of  battle  spread  their  lines  from  pillar 
to  pillar.  Above  were  the  rich  marble  altars 
and  countless  bas-reliefs  and  statuary  to  engage 
the  eye.  The  altar  of  the  Piccolomini  is  in  the 
left  aisle,  lofty,  elegantly  cut  in  white  marble, 
and  adorned  about  its  inset  half-dome  with  five 
statues  of  saints  by  Michael  Angelo.  These  works 
are  rather  small,  and  certainly  well  executed,  but 
they  do  not  show  the  force  of  genius  generally 
displayed  by  him,  which  is  explained  by  the  fact 
that  another  hand,  that  of  Torregiani,  designed 
and  partly  cut  them. 

In  the  left  transept,  in  the  chapel  of  S.  Gio- 
vanni, is  a  much  admired  statue  of  that  saint  by 
Donatello,  representing  him  as  emaciated  and 
clad  in  rags  of  goat-skin ;  not  beautiful,  but 
strong.  Here  also  are  five  small  frescoes  by  Pin- 
turrichio,  of  no  great  importance ;  like  every  one, 
he  did  not  do  his  best  until  he  tried,  and  he  was 
not  always  inspired  to  try.  Near  this,  by  the  pil- 
lars of  the  dome,  stands  the  most  important  ob- 
ject in  the  cathedral,  —  the  great  pulpit  of  Nic- 
colo  Pisano,  rising  on  its  columns  and  sculptured 
lions,  and  looking  with  richly  cut  parapet  over 
the  whole  interior.  It  is  a  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful thing.  In  general  design  it  is  very  much  like 
his  pulpit  at  Pisa,  the  eight  supporting  columns 


SIENA  277 

springing  alternately  from  lions'  backs,  and  the 
several  panels  of  the  parapet  being  sculptured  in 
high  relief  with  many  figures.  Here  the  subjects 
are  from  the  New  Testament,  —  Adoration  of 
the  Magi,  etc.,  including  a  double-paneled  re- 
presentation of  the  Last  Judgment.  These  are 
much  stronger  scenes  than  those  on  Pisano's 
fountain  at  Perugia,  because  containing  so  many 
more  figures,  massed  and  moved  with  dramatic 
effect ;  and  amidst  such  a  crowd  the  individuality 
of  the  faces  and  the  realism,  force,  and  meaning 
of  each  gesture  and  expression  are  extraordinary. 
As  I  looked  it  over,  a  mass  was  being  intoned 
at  the  high  altar  by  three  priests,  richly  robed  in 
crimson  and  gold,  who  were  sometimes  almost 
hidden  by  the  clouds  of  incense  which  a  little 
acolyte  swung  about.  He  relaxed  this  occasion- 
ally to  ring  a  very  large  bell  hung  to  the  ceiling 
of  the  choir,  which  boomed  through  the  arches  of 
the  cathedral  like  a  summons  to  the  Final  Judg- 
ment which  I  was  regarding.  Not  more  than 
two  dozen  people  were  listening  to  this  service  at 
the  chapel  rail,  —  of  whom  several  sat  between 
the  columns  of  the  pulpit  and  rested  their  heads 
upon  Pisano's  ancient  lions,  —  but  scores  of 
others  moved  about  at  a  distance  without  their 
footsteps  being  audible.  It  was  like  St.  Peter's 
in  its  vastness. 

When  the  service  was  finished  and  the  priests 
had  changed  their  chasubles  and  retired  to  one 


278  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  the  many  chapels  to  commence  another,  I  en- 
tered the  choir.  The  double  row  of  stalls  is  most 
richly  and  delicately  carved,  likewise  the  tall  read- 
ing-desk, a  delight  in  itself.  The  extensive  fres- 
coes of  the  apse  were  once  done  by  Beccafumi, 
but  are  unrecognizable  now  as  his  work.  The 
right  transept  and  aisle  contain  many  works  of 
lesser  importance.  Returning  to  the  library  by 
way  of  the  dome,  I  saw  the  two  famous  flag- 
staffs,  standing  against  pillars,  which  were  cap- 
tured from  the  Florentines  at  Montaperto  with 
the  Caroccio  j  there  they  stand  century  after  cen- 
tury, only  ugly,  heavy  poles  thirty  feet  in  height, 
utterly  out  of  place  —  as  so  many  have  said  —  in 
a  house  of  worship,  reminiscent  as  they  are  of 
man's  inhumanity  to  man ;  but  even  the  stranger 
cannot  restrain  a  thrill  at  the  sight  of  them. 

I  found  the  library  to  be  a  long,  lofty  room,  with 
the  old  choir  books  and  missals  in  cases  against 
the  walls,  and  the  great  frescoes  of  Pinturicchio 
flashing  down  a  thousand  bright  hues  from 
above.  One  is  instantly  struck  by  the  wonderful 
vividness  of  them  ;  the  preservation  is  so  perfect 
that  they  might  have  been  painted  yesterday. 
Here,  then,  is  an  old  master  seen  just  as  he 
wrought,  without  the  fading  hand  of  time  or  the 
defacing  hand  of  the  restorer  to  alter  him.  The 
tone  of  the  whole  ten  scenes,  stretching  all  the  way 
about  the  room  and  reaching  from  wainscoting  to 
ceiling,  is  exceedingly  light,  —  of  a  keen  brilliance 


SIENA  279 

with  golden  undercurrent;  and  the  countless 
shades  of  color  are  vivid  and  strong,  yet  running 
harmoniously  together.  The  hundreds  of  manly 
figures  that  pose  and  move  upon  backgrounds  of 
sea  and  cities  and  charming  country  are  distinct, 
vigorous,  and  absolutely  realistic.  Their  combi- 
nations into  groups  and  crowds  are  handled  with 
consummate  skill  and  balance,  —  compositions  in 
which  grace  of  the  whole  is  combined  with  grace 
of  the  individual.  Truly  these  are  masterpieces, 
not  merely  of  Pinturicchio,  nor  of  the  TJmbrian 
school,  but  of  all  time  and  all  place.  They  seem 
to  combine  the  best  of  the  various  Italian  schools. 
Pinturicchio  was  the  Umbrian  artist  who  was 
not  limited  to  altar-pieces  and  pietistic  work  (per- 
fectly as  he  could  execute  them) ;  but  who  would 
have  supposed  that  he  could  so  thoroughly  master 
also  the  dramatic  action  of  the  Florentines?  Here 
are  not  only  the  Umbrian  grace,  gentleness,  and 
beauty,  but  stirring  movement,  the  disposition  of 
masses,  realism  of  forceful  outdoor  life,  and  sig- 
nificant gesture  and  expression.  With  all  this  he 
joins  a  wonderful  perspective  and  execution  and 
exquisite  color  schemes.  He  had  perfectly  mas- 
tered the  art  (exceptionally  difficult)  of  drawing 
the  perspective  with  reference  to  the  eye  of  the  be- 
holder being  far  below  the  picture ;  and  although 
these  scenes  are  fifteen  feet  and  more  above  us, 
and  represent  persons  considerably  elevated  upon 
thrones  and  daises  above  their  entourage,  yet 


280  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

we  really  seem  to  be  looking  down  upon  those 
thrones  and  daises,  and  down  upon  the  back- 
ground beyond. 

Pius  II.  is  portrayed,  first,  as  a  very  charming 
youth,  elegant  and  refined,  starting  for  the  Coun- 
cil of  Basle  upon  a  spirited  horse,  with  an  escort 
of  gay  riders,  and  the  sea  in  the  background; 
then  as  making  obeisance  to  King  James  I.  of 
Scotland,  —  enthroned  amidst  his  court,  —  to 
whom  he  had  been  sent  by  the  Council  of  Basle ; 
as  being  crowned  poet  by  Emperor  Frederick  III., 
and  then  betrothing  that  emperor  to  Eleanore 
of  Portugal  at  Siena,  when  we  see  Siena's  tow- 
ers and  battlements  cresting  her  hills  in  the  rear. 
Later  he  is  shown  at  the  time  when  he  was  created 
cardinal,  and  elected  Pope,  when  he  canonized 
St.  Catherine,  and  died  at  Ancona  preaching  a 
crusade  against  the  Turks. 

I  left  the  cathedral  feeling  that  one  cannot 
judge  an  artist  by  seeing  even  half  his  works. 
Certainly  no  one  can  know  Pinturrichio,  or  know 
what  a  quattrocentist  was  capable  of,  until  he  has 
seen  this  library. 

Opposite  the  fagade  of  the  Duomo  is  the  church 
of  S.  Maria  della  Scala,  uninteresting  in  itself, 
but  interesting  as  to  the  hospital  of  the  same 
name,  which  is  an  eleemosynary  institution  of  the 
best  kind.  I  went  there  one  Sunday  to  see  the 
frescoes  on  its  walls  of  the  quattrocentist  Dome- 
nico  di  Bartolo  (I  was  always  hunting  in  vain  for 


JAMES    I.  OF   SCOTLAND   ENTHRONED,  BY  PINTURICCHIO  — SIENA 


SIENA  281 

a  good  Sienese  quattrocentist  work),  and  found 
myself  more  absorbed  in  the  patients  than  in  the 
pictures.  The  beds  occupied  a  number  of  large 
wards  with  windows  looking  out  upon  the  open 
country  to  the  west,  and  the  patients  —  poor  cit- 
tadini  and  contadini  —  reposed  or  sat  about  in 
dressing-gowns  and  night-caps  of  white  wool ; 
they  looked  very  forlorn  and  hopeless.  Some  were 
being  visited  by  their  families  from  the  country, 
who  carried  large  green  umbrellas  and  talked  vio- 
lently, as  usual.  The  peasant  considers  a  sick  per- 
son only  as  an  incumbrance ;  and  I  realized  what 
a  blessed  thing  it  was  that  here  the  incumbrance 
had  a  place  to  be  taken  and  have  good  care,  know- 
ing the  suffering  he  would  endure  at  home  from 
neglect  and  filth  and  insufficient  food,  which 
death  alone  would  relieve. 

A  portion  of  the  partly  constructed  nave  of 
the  cathedral  had  been  utilized  as  a  museum. 
Here  I  found  the  original  sculptures  of  Quercia 
for  the  Foute  Gaja,  —  very  mutilated,  —  an  in- 
teresting reduced  copy  of  the  entire  cathedral 
pavement,  and  Duccio's  great  "  Majestas."  This 
last  used  to  stand  over  the  high  altar  of  the 
Duomo,  for  which  purpose  it  was  painted  in  1310. 
Besides  the  Madonna  and  Saints,  it  portrays  the 
life  of  Christ  in  twenty-six  different  small  panels ; 
and  in  these  can  be  seen  Duccio's  wonderful 
dramatic  genius.  The  figures  are  somewhat  stiff 
in  pose  and  movement,  they  are  often  ill-propor- 


282  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

tioned,  perspective  is  lacking,  yet  they  overpower 
one  with  their  striking  expressions,  gestures,  and 
actions.  The  story  is  told  with  an  earnest  vivid- 
ness that  leads  up  clearly  and  grandly  to  the  pro- 
found drama  of  the  Crucifixion.  In  this  panel, 
which  is  appropriately  larger  than  the  others,  a 
singular,  strong  effect  is  produced  by  massing  the 
apostles  and  friends  of  Jesus  on  one  side  and  the 
anathematizing  priests  and  populace  on  the  other ; 
so  on  the  left  we  have  grief,  humiliation,  silent 
comprehension  of  the  vast  tragedy,  and  on  the 
right,  triumph,  disdain,  tumultuous  invective. 
The  figures  and  grouping  are  wonderfully  power- 
ful ;  the  expression  could  not  he  surpassed.  Yet 
this  was  done  six  hundred  years  ago,  by  a  man 
who  had  no  precedents  to  guide  him,  no  masters 
to  teach  him,  and  who  labored  under  great  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  crudeness  of  his  materials. 

The  other  points  of  interest  on  the  southwest- 
ern hill  —  besides  those  thus  grouped  about  the 
Duomo  —  lie  at  a  further  distance.  I  first  reached 
them  by  a  delightful  walk  taken  from  the  cathe- 
dral, starting  by  a  way  at  the  western  angle  of 
its  piazza  which  descends  a  long  flight  of  steps 
through  a  tunnel.  At  the  bottom  is  the  little  six- 
teenth century  church  of  Degli  Innocenti,  built 
in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross,  its  interior  walls 
covered  with  poor  pictures  from  top  to  bottom. 
Thence  a  street  leads  southward  upon  the  western 
slope  of  the  hill,  past  a  quaint  little  marble-cutter's 


SIENA  283 

shop,  with  no  buildings  for  some  way  upon  its 
lower  side.  I  looked  off  over  the  green  descent, 
covered  with  gardens  and  trees,  to  the  mediaeval 
city  walls  at  some  distance,  thinking  that  it  was 
once  a  mass  of  dwellings  and  streets.  On  every 
side  Siena  is  thus  shrunk  from  her  extensiveness 
of  the  dark  ages  —  drawn  back  upon  the  hill- 
tops which  the  first  city  covered.  Following  the 
street,  I  reached  the  church  of  S.  Maria  del  Car- 
mine at  the  southwest  corner  of  the  hill,  a  large 
brick  edifice  designed  by  Baldassare  Peruzzi,  with 
pretty  cloisters  now  occupied  as  a  prison,  and  a 
lofty,  graceful  campanile.  The  usual  old  woman 
who  does  duty  in  the  Sienese  churches  as  sacris- 
tan accompanied  me  about  the  nave,  drawing 
back  a  curtain  here  and  there  from  an  altar-piece, 
and  reciting  her  lesson  as  to  the  artists.  She  thus 
exhibited  a  Nativity  by  Sodoma  of  much  beauty, 
amongst  many  others  of  no  interest. 

To  the  left  of  the  Carmine  three  streets  run 
down  the  hill  to  the  southwestern  gate  of  the 
city,' — the  Porta  S.  Marco.  Descending  one  of 
them  I  shortly  found  myself  without  the  walls  on 
a  sort  of  terrace  before  the  gate,  with  ilex  trees 
clustering  about  to  frame  the  beautiful  vistas 
from  it.  The  view  ranged  from  near  Monte  Ami- 
ata  on  the  south  to  Monte  Maggio  on  the  north, 
embracing  the  long,  high,  forest-clad  range  of  the 
coast  mountains  to  the  west.  In  the  latter  lay, 
I  knew,  Volterra  and  San  Gimignano,  whither  I 


284  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

should  soon  be  going.  This  side  of  them  the 
country  was  all  a  gentle  slope  to  the  south,  — to 
the  valley  of  the  Omhrone,  —  from  the  long  ridge 
of  Monte  Maggio,  which  is  the  watershed  separat- 
ing it  from  the  valley  of  the  Elsa  and  the  Arno. 
But  the  peculiarity  of  the  view  lay  not  so  much  in 
the  mountains  being  more  serrated  and  black  with 
forest  than  those  further  south  as  in  the  compara- 
tive bareness  of  the  middle  distance.  This  rolling 
country  about  Siena  has  never  recovered  from  the 
siege  of  1555.  The  chalk  region  to  the  south, 
whose  white  hummocks  glistened  in  the  sun,  has 
always  been  bare ;  but  these  green  vales  and  roll- 
ing hills  to  the  west  and  north  were  once  luxu- 
riantly massed  with  gardens,  vineyards,  and  or- 
chards. The  Spanish  soldiery  destroyed  not  only 
nearly  all  the  peasantry,  but  their  farms  as  well, 
devouring  the  crops  and  stripping  the  fields  of  all 
their  trees  for  firewood.  Thus  to-day  I  saw  but 
barren  undulations  covered  with  thin  grass,  and 
no  trees  or  cultivation,  except  occasionally  about 
a  chance  farmhouse  or  monastery.  There  is  cer- 
tainly a  desolateness  in  this  landscape  around 
Siena  which  is  depressing.  Turning  about,  I  saw 
the  city  wall  running  off  to  the  north,  curving 
into  a  vale  and  rising  again ;  and  above  it  piled 
the  buildings  on  the  hill  in  a  steep  picturesque 
mass,  surmounted  by  the  pinnacles,  dome,  and 
campanile  of  the  Duomo,  glistening  in  the  sun 
with  their  marble  stripes. 


SIENA  285 

Reascending  to  the  Carmine,  I  followed  the 
Via  della  Cerchi  along  the  southern  edge  of  the 
hill  to  the  church  of  S.  Agostino  at  its  south- 
eastern angle.  The  streets  here  seem  to  have 
been  built  up  entirely  since  the  siege;  they 
stretch  off,  quite  straight,  with  high,  plain,  stuc- 
coed walls,  and  are  wider  than  mediaeval  ways. 
They  have  not  even  mediaeval  filth  to  make  them 
picturesque.  But  I  found  in  San  Agostino  one 
of  the  most  interesting  churches  of  Siena.  It 
is  a  large  brick  structure,  externally  plain,  like 
the  others,  with  extensive  convent  buildings, 
now  used  for  a  grammar  school;  and  out  of 
these  the  boys  came  trooping  with  books  under 
their  arms,  and  flocked  about  me  with  energetic 
demands  for  foreign  postage  stamps.  The  phila- 
telic mania  seems  only  lately  to  have  struck  the 
youth  of  Italy.  The  sons  of  well-to-do  parents 
were  generally  dressed  rather  picturesquely,  with 
Tarn  O'Shanter  caps  and  small  stockings  reach- 
ing just  above  the  shoes,  leaving  the  legs  bare. 
These  were  more  gentle  in  their  demands,  and 
here,  as  at  Perugia,  I  used  to  carefully  preserve 
for  them  stamps  from  my  letters.  Leaving  the 
boys,  I  entered  the  church,  which  has  a  long, 
high  nave,  without  aisles  —  the  general  design 
of  Sienese  churches  —  and  rich,  colored-marble 
altars  at  the  sides.  One  of  these  on  the  right  con- 
tains a  large  canvas  of  Perugino,  a  magnificent 
Crucifixion.  It  has  a  warmer  tone  than  usual 


286  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

with  him,  and  a  beautiful  green  Umbrian  land- 
scape behind  the  figures.  The  figures  are  few, 
four  or  five  apostles  standing  separated  about 
the  cross  in  attitudes  of  grief.  It  is  not  realis- 
tic, but  it  is  sweet,  with  gentle  curving  lines  and 
Peruginesque  faces.  Near  by,  in  perfect  con- 
trast, is  a  superb  Sodoma,  —  an  Adoration  of  the 
Magi,  undoubtedly  painted  at  about  the  same 
period,  —  one  of  those  works  with  which  Bazzi 
took  pains.  In  a  rich  dark  atmosphere  the  Magi 
are  coming  down  a  hill-side  on  horseback  with 
a  cavalcade,  and  the  beautiful  Madonna  and 
Infant  are  in  the  foreground.  In  the  close  group 
of  men  and  horses  in  the  rear  the  light  falls 
sparingly  through  heavy  shadows  upon  faces  and 
steel  arms,  but  the  Bambino  and  Madonna's 
countenances  are  lustrous.  Comparing  these  pic- 
tures, we  see  that  Sodoma,  when  he  tried,  had  not 
only  the  equal  of  Perugino's  grace,  composition, 
and  drawing,  but  he  added  realism,  tone,  and 
light  and  shadow. 

In  the  same  chapel  with  the  Adoration  is  one 
of  Dupre's  fine  statues,  representing  Pius  II. ;  it 
gives  an  accurate  idea  of  the  noble,  powerful, 
clean-shaven  countenance  of  that  illustrious  man. 
In  the  choir  is  an  altar-piece  of  the  trecento,  said 
to  be  by  Lippo  Memmi,  although  it  has  not  his 
marks.  I  went  out  to  the  piazza  in  front  of  the 
church,  the  eastern  end  of  which  looks  across  the 
ravine  to  the  southeastern  ridge  of  the  city.  The 


SIENA  287 

high,  dirty  backs  of  the  dwellings  upon  it  were 
turned  towards  me,  falling  in  several  tiers  below 
the  top  of  the  ridge ;  and  this  confused  mass  of 
filthy  walls  and  crooked  chimneys  stretched  pic- 
turesquely along  from  the  Palazzo  Communale  on 
the  north  to  the  large  brick  church  of  the  Servi  di 
Maria  on  the  southeast.  From  this  piazza  a  street 
that  is  also  rather  picturesque  runs  down  and  along 
the  eastern  side  of  this  hill  to  the  Palazzo,  pene- 
trating an  old  archway,  and  having  several  street 
stairways  falling  into  it  on  the  left  from  the  hill- 
top as  it  progresses.  On  later  occasions  I  took 
this  path ;  but  at  present  I  took  the  straight  way 
north  upon  the  summit  towards  the  Duomo, — 
the  Via  di  San  Pietro,  —  and  after  a  few  paces 
came  upon  the  church  of  S.  Pietro  alle  Scale  on 
the  right.  As  its  name  indicates,  it  sits  at  the 
top  of  a  flight  of  steps,  —  a  little,  old,  mouldy 
edifice  having  nothing  remarkable  within.  The 
streets  of  Italian  towns  are  always  full  of  babies 
playing  and  rolling  on  the  pavement,  for  they 
seem  to  thrive  on  dirt ;  but  I  remember  a  very 
pretty  little  girl  of  two  or  three  years  who  sat 
at  the  foot  of  these  steps.  Her  occupation  was 
truly  plebeian,  for  she  was  trying  to  catch  fleas, 
and  humming  contentedly  as  she  did  so ;  but  her 
deep  coloring  and  glossy  black  hair  and  eyes  were 
a  picture  framed  in  the  high  steps  and  crum- 
bling old  church  behind. 

A  few  paces  further  on,  also  on  the  right,  I 


288  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

found  the  beautiful  gothic  palace  of  the  Buonsi- 
gnori.  It  is  of  the  usual  fourteenth  century  secu- 
lar construction,  having  large  triple  windows  on 
the  second  and  third  stories,  with  slim  white 
marble  mullions,  and  battlements  at  the  top ;  but 
there  is  additional  decoration  here  in  the  elaborate 
string-courses  of  tiny  pointed  arches  carrying  a 
ledge,  and  in  the  little  block  moulding  of  every 
window.  The  whole  effect  is  a  rare  combination 
of  richness  and  grimness.  The  Piazza  Portierla  is 
just  beyond,  with  the  Palazzo  Chigi ;  and  reach- 
ing this,  I  took  the  Via  di  Citta  down  the  hill 
and  homeward. 

A  similar  walk  took  me  one  day  along  the  south- 
eastern ridge  to  visit  its  churches.  Following  its 
main  street,  the  Via  Ricasoli,  past  the  beautiful 
Palazzo  del  Governo,  I  came  first  to  the  loggia 
just  beyond,  built  by  Pius  II.,  and  the  church  of 
San  Martino.  In  the  latter  I  found  some  inter- 
esting things  :  a  lovely  altar  decorated  with  rich 
patterns  on  pilasters  and  entablature  by  Lorenzo 
di  Mariano,  a  Sienese  cinquecentist  sculptor  who 
did  some  exquisite  work  of  this  nature ;  a  Nativ- 
ity by  Beccafumi ;  a  remarkable  wooden  gilded 
statue  of  the  Virgin  (it  is  so  difficult  to  give 
any  expression  to  wood,  yet  this  is  full  of  ten- 
der grace  and  feeling)  by  an  unknown  pupil  of 
Quercia ;  and  a  quaint  picture  which  apparently 
represents  the  return  of  the  victorious  Sienese 
from  Montaperto,  and  must  have  been  done  at 


SIENA  289 

that  time.  The  last  is  interesting  for  its  view  of 
Siena,  showing  the  many  high  towers  and  pictur- 
esque buildings  now  vanished,  and  the  dress  and 
accoutrements  of  the  returning  warriors,  strug- 
gling under  their  loads  of  spoil. 

Thence  the  Via  Ricasoli  runs  on,  of  consider- 
able width,  between  high,  dull  stuccoed  fagades, 
till  the  church  of  S.  Spirito  appears  on  the  left,  a 
few  paces  down  a  side  street.  Its  exterior  is  en- 
livened by  a  handsome  portal  by  Peruzzi,  and  its 
interior  contains  some  paintings  by  Sodoma  over 
a  side-altar.  These  latter,  however,  are  not  of  his 
best  work ;  and  the  fresco  of  St.  James  on  horse- 
back, which  is  sometimes  admired,  looked  to  me 
like  a  wooden  image  cased  in  armor.  I  went  on 
to  the  Servi  di  Maria  at  the  end  of  the  ridge,  and 
found  in  that  a  church  of  intense  interest.  It  is 
long  and  wide,  constructed  in  the  early  Roman 
basilica  style,  which  it  was  a  relief  to  see  again. 
Many  ancient  columns  separate  the  low  aisles  from 
the  nave ;  early  Madonnas  glow  down  from  their 
rich  frames  over  the  side-altars;  and  a  large  Coro- 
nation of  the  Virgin  over  the  high  altar  sends  its 
golden  refulgence  through  the  dusk.  It  was  a  true 
vision  of  the  past,  when  the  spurs  of  knights  rang 
on  this  stone  pavement  and  the  spears  of  men-at- 
arms  made  those  dents  in  the  old  columns.  How 
many  countless  thousands  came  here  in  those 
bygone  centuries  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  on  the  right,  where  she  looks  obliquely 


290  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

down  from  the  canvas  where  Coppo  di  Marco- 
valdo  placed  her  in  1260 !  In  spite  of  her  vast 
age  and  Byzantine  origin,  she  is  still  young  and 
handsome,  —  to  which  fact,  probably,  she  owes 
her  reputation  for  working  miracles;  and  the 
offerings  of  her  believers  hang  numerously  about 
on  the  walls,  little  silver  hearts  and  gilded  orna- 
ments, indicative  of  their  trust  that  she  has  not 
lost  her  youthful  femininity. 

Another  Virgin  almost  as  old,  but  likewise 
still  fresh  and  beautiful,  smiles  down  at  us  from 
above  the  sacristy  door  in  the  right  transept. 
She  was  placed  there  by  Lippo  Memmi  over  five 
hundred  years  ago,  but  the  blood  yet  blushes 
fair  beneath  her  olive  skin,  and  her  eyes,  though 
oriental,  have  a  soft  liquid  gaze  that  steals  into 
one's  heart.  She  is  almost  as  lovely,  in  her  way, 
as  the  new  Madonna  in  the  chapel  to  the  right 
of  the  choir,  a  virgin  who  surely  is  not  older  than 
she  looks ;  and  she  looks  the  most  beautiful  wo- 
man that  my  eyes  have  ever  rested  upon,  "  tall 
and  divinely  fair,"  standing  with  her  foot  upon 
the  round  ball  of  the  world,  her  hands  crossed 
upon  the  breast,  and  her  blue  eyes  turned  upward 
with  a  seraphic  yet  humble  expression.  What 
modern  artist  may  have  painted  her  I  know  not, 
and  care  not,  but  her  face  will  always  be  with  me 
as  the  realization  of  ideal,  angelic  beauty. 

The  Coronation  on  the  high  altar,  though 
painted  by  Fungai  as  late  as  1500,  is,  nevertheless, 


SIENA  291 

Byzantine  in  conception  and  execution,  and  re- 
markable only  for  its  gorgeous  coloring.  In  some 
of  the  adjacent  chapels  are  the  remains  of  large 
animated  frescoes  by  Ambrogio  Lorenzetti,  so 
altered  and  defaced  that  I  could  derive  no  plea- 
sure from  them.  One  more  ancient  Madonna 
greeted  me  as  I  passed  out  by  the  left  aisle,  — 
looking  across  the  dim  nave  to  her  sister  of  Mar- 
covaldo;  she  had  a  little  more  style  and  finish 
than  the  latter,  for  she  was  born  just  a  hundred 
years  later,  and  her  features  were  handsomer; 
but  doubtless  she  would  gladly  exchange  them  for 
the  gift  of  working  miracles. 

Below  the  high  end  of  the  ridge  on  which  the 
Servi  di  Maria  stands,  I  found  a  large  modern  in- 
sane asylum,  a  handsome  building,  behind  a  gar- 
den of  shrubs  and  flowers ;  and  just  beyond  this, 
the  mediaeval  city  gate  called  the  Porta  Romana. 
This  gate  exists  intact  as  it  was  when  the  Span- 
iards attacked  it  with  bombard  and  sword,  to  be 
always  repulsed  by  the  desperate  Sienese.  It  is 
of  brick,  like  the  walls,  —  which  evidently  served 
as  well  for  defense  as  stone,  —  and  still  has  the 
large  square  anteport  before  the  archway,  where 
in  times  of  peace  were  stalled  incoming  cattle  for 
inspection  by  the  city  health  officials  before  being 
allowed  to  enter.  This  was  not  for  health  of  the 
inhabitants,  I  believe,  but  to  protect  the  city  ani- 
mals from  pest ;  for  we  know  in  what  unregulated 
filth  the  people  lived.  Without  the  gate  I  obtained 


292  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

a  fine  view  of  the  country  to  the  south,  —  the  bare 
chalky  hills  stretching  down  to  the  valley  of  the 
Ombrone,  and  magnificent  Amiata  towering  in 
the  distance.  In  the  vales  near  at  hand  it  was 
pleasant  to  observe  some  modern  cultivation  of 
gardens  and  olive  orchards,  amongst  which  rose 
the  squared  walls  of  villas  and  farmhouses. 

The  churches  and  monasteries  of  the  two  prin- 
cipal brotherhoods  —  the  Franciscans  and  Domi- 
nicans —  were  built  as  usual  upon  the  outskirts 
of  the  city,  in  order  that  the  brethren  might 
have  adjacent  open  ground  to  cultivate  for  their 
tables.  They  sit  upon  two  little  spurs  that  pro- 
ject right  and  left  from  the  northern  ridge  a 
short  way  north  of  the  Piazza  di  Campo,  —  the 
Franciscans  building  on  the  east,  the  Dominicans 
on  the  west.  The  brethren  are  gone  forever ; 
the  cloisters  and  cells  where  they  lived  for  cen- 
turies are  occupied  no  more  by  brown  robe  and 
white  robe,  but  by  the  blue  coats  of  schoolboys 
and  soldiers.  So  the  huge  brick  churches  stand 
desolate  and  bleak,  bare  enough  originally,  but 
denuded  now  of  the  picturesque  costumes,  trap- 
pings, and  ceremonies  that  gave  them  life.  They 
are  kept  up  by  one  or  two  parish  priests,  to  whose 
services  a  few  people  occasionally  wander  out ; 
but  in  the  vastness  of  those  interiors  —  meant  to 
be  filled  by  a  hundred  officiating  monks  —  a  few 
cottas  and  candles  and  kneeling  listeners  are  lost 
in  the  shadows. 


SIENA  293 

In  San  Francesco  even  the  side-altars  seem 
lost,  affixed  to  those  bare,  lofty  walls  at  intervals, 
with  the  great  barn-like  roof  of  beams  soaring 
far  overhead.  There  is  no  objet  d'art  there  of 
special  interest ;  but  in  the  adjacent  chapel  which 
the  brethren  built  in  the  front  wall  of  the  mon- 
astery, called  the  Oratorio  of  San  Bernardino, 
there  are  some  admirable  frescoes.  The  chapel 
is  two  storied,  and  the  little  room  of  the  upper 
story  is  lit  up  by  the  gleaming  colors  of  Becca- 
fumi  and  the  warm  tones  of  Sodoma.  Neither 
artist  has  much  exerted  himself.  They  seldom  did 
when  painting  by  contract  a  large  space  of  mon- 
astery wall ;  yet  the  tout  ensemble  of  this  presen- 
tation of  the  life  of  the  Virgin  is  pleasing.  Con- 
necting the  spur  with  the  hill  proper  is  a  piazza, 
the  northern  parapet  of  which  looks  down  the 
sloping  hill-side  to  the  Porta  Ovile  below.  This 
is  another  of  the  mediaeval  city  gates,  in  size  and 
shape  just  like  the  Porta  Romana,  and  like  it 
preserved  intact ;  the  city  walls  run  obliquely 
down  to  it  from  the  inner  side  of  the  piazza,  and 
beyond  mount  again  to  the  terrace  where  the  rail- 
road station  lies.  I  descended  to  the  gate,  upon 
the  occasion  when  I  first  visited  San  Francesco, 
by  a  street  inside  the  walls  that  pitched  down- 
wards at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  between 
plastered  dwellings  of  the  poor  that  clung  to  its 
sides  and  slattern  gossips  that  clung  to  the  win- 
dow sills  and  flung  a  wind  of  remarks  across 


294  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

my  head  about  my  appearance  and  antecedents. 
The  round  dirty  babies  playing  in  the  way,  when 
they  lost  their  feet,  rolled  halfway  to  the  bottom 
before  catching  them  again.  After  examining 
the  stout  walls  and  battlements  of  the  gate,  I 
remounted  the  hill-side  to  the  west,  to  the  Via 
Cavour,  and  went  out  to  the  north  gate,  the 
Porta  Camellia.  On  the  way  I  passed  on  the  left 
the  old  church  of  Fontegusta,  —  the  only  thing 
of  individual  interest  in  this  northern  section  of 
the  city,  —  and  stopped  to  see  its  interior.  It 
contains  an  exquisite  high  altar,  sculptured  by 
Lorenzo  di  Mariano,  and  about  the  only  painting 
of  Peruzzi  that  Siena  has,  —  a  large  fresco  of  the 
Sibyl  announcing  to  Augustus  the  Nativity  of 
Christ.  This  was  carefully  executed,  and  the  fig- 
ures of  the  sibyl  and  emperor  are  remarkable. 
They  are  out  of  proportion  to  the  space  allotted, 
and  consequently  the  composition  is  ill  balanced  ; 
but  one  is  a  very  beautiful  woman  and  the  other 
is  a  very  manly  warrior.  The  power  of  expres- 
sion shown,  as  well  as  the  grace,  indicate  what 
Peruzzi  could  do.  I  saw  over  the  main  doorway 
of  this  church  the  arms  that  Christopher  Colum- 
bus is  reputed  to  have  given  to  it  on  his  return 
from  America,  —  a  falconel,  a  casque,  a  sword, 
and  a  round  shield.  Hanging  there  against 
the  plastered  wall,  so  rusted  that  a  fall  would 
break  them,  they  look  old  enough  to  verify  the 
legend. 


SIENA  295 

The  northern  ridge  of  the  city  ends  in  a  point 
at  the  Porta  Camellia,  which  is  a  high  arch  in 
the  city  wall;  but  beyond  it  the  ridge  spreads 
out  again  to  a  considerable  table-land,  where  lie 
quite  a  number  of  modern  houses  and  the  wide 
Piazza  d'  Armi,  used  by  the  peasantry  for  their 
fairs  and  weekly  animal  market.  This  is  the  road 
to  Florence  ;  and  where  so  many  armies  marched 
out  in  centuries  past  with  glittering  armor  and 
brazen  music  to  give  battle  to  the  hated  Floren- 
tines, now  marches  every  Tuesday  a  huge  cavalcade 
of  steers,  heavy  and  clumsy,  but  beautiful  in  the 
mass  with  their  white  hides  and  wide-spreading 
horns.  A  queer  change,  —  a  Hindu  might  call 
it  a  metamorphosis. 

S.  Domenico  is  more  interesting  in  itself  than 
S.  Francesco.  It  is  not  quite  so  vast  and  barn- 
like,  and  it  contains,  besides  a  number  of  works 
by  fhe  quattrocentists  Matteo  and  Benvenuto  di 
Giovanni  (Byzantine  as  usual),  some  painstaking 
frescoes  by  Sodoma.  The  last  cover  the  walls  of 
the  little  chapel  of  St.  Catherine  on  the  right 
of  the  nave,  and  depict  events  in  the  life  of 
that  saint.  Here  is  the  celebrated  Swoon  of 
St.  Catherine,  in  which  she  is  shown  as  fainting 
under  the  ecstasy  of  her  approach  to  the  Holy 
Throne,  supported  by  two  nuns,  all  in  the  white 
habit  of  the  saint's  order.  Elsewhere  Sodoma  has 
shown  his  wonderful  powers  of  composition,  tone, 
grace,  color,  and  action ;  here  he  shows  his  power 


296  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  expression.  The  feelings  that  St.  Catherine 
is  undergoing,  extraordinary  and  miraculous  as 
they  are,  are  nevertheless  perfectly  conveyed  to 
the  spectator,  and  subtly,  —  not  only  by  her  fea- 
tures, but  by  every  line  of  her  figure,  and  the  un- 
conscious postures  of  the  sisters. 

The  story  of  St.  Catherine  is  a  part  of  the 
story  of  Siena ;  and  it  is  exceptionally  interesting 
because  it  is  not  embellished  with  the  hundred 
legends  of  fancy  that  accompany  or  establish  the 
usual  sainthood,  but  is  absolutely  historical.  She 
was  born  in  Siena,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  in  the  house  which  still  stands 
just  below  this  church  of  S.  Domenico  in  the 
vale  between  its  spur  and  the  hill  of  the  Duomo. 
This  vale,  always  known  politically  as  the  Ward 
of  the  Goose  —  from  its  emblem  —  is  one  of 
the  oldest  parts  of  Siena,  inhabited  from  ancient 
times  by  tanners,  who  still  ply  their  trade  exclu- 
sively there.  It  slopes  steeply  down  to  the  west 
from  the  lower  part  of  the  northern  ridge  of  the 
city,  where  the  palaces  of  the  Salimbeni,  Tolo- 
mei,  and  other  nobles  rise,  between  the  Duomo 
and  S.  Domenico  on  each  side,  to  the  famous 
old  fountain  of  Fontebranda  and  gate  of  the 
same  name.  Here  Catherine  was  born,  the  hum- 
ble daughter  of  Giacomo  the  tanner,  who  used 
to  beat  her  in  childhood  because  of  her  alleged 
religious  ecstasies  and  visions.  She  felt  herself 
drawn  near  to  Christ,  declared  that  she  held  con- 


SIENA  297 

verse  with  the  Holy  Family,  and  finally  announced 
that  the  Saviour  had  espoused  her.  This,  which 
sounds  very  ridiculous  to  modern  ears,  became 
thoroughly  believed  in  those  times  of  ignorance 
and  mysticism.  Catherine  cut  off  her  beautiful 
hair,  donned  the  garments  of  a  nun,  slept  on  a 
stone  floor  with  bricks  for  a  pillow,  and  otherwise 
did  constant  penance.  She  preached  earnestly 
against  the  cruelties  and  vices  of  the  period,  and 
when  she  had  reformed  her  fellow-citizens,  started 
to  reform  the  Church.  She  criticised  boldly  the 
baseness,  venality,  and  worldly  ambition  of  the 
prelates  and  became  a  person  of  great  political 
importance,  traveling  all  over  Italy  and  Europe 
on  missions  of  good,  to  which  popes,  kings,  and 
emperors  lent  ear.  Finally,  to  her  is  accredited 
the  achievement  of  inducing  Gregory  XI.  to 
bring  back  the  papal  court  from  Avignon  to 
Rome,  ending  the  long  schism  of  the  Church. 

I  went  down  from  S.  Domenico  to  visit  the 
house  of  S.  Catherine  (who  was  canonized  by  the 
ever  present  Pius  II.).  The  workshop  of  Giacomo 
has  been  rebuilt  into  a  chapel,  and  the  living- 
rooms  above  have  been  converted  into  oratories 
and  adorned  with  paintings.  The  approach  is  by 
a  little  street  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  where  I 
rang  a  bell,  and  the  usual  old  woman  conducted 
me  up  the  flight  of  outside  stairs  and  through  a 
short  hall  to  the  former  kitchen.  It  bears  no 
traces  now  of  its  original  occupation;  beauti- 


298  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

fully  cut  pilasters  on  the  wall  support  a  fine  cof- 
fered ceiling,  and  large  paintings  by  the  cinque- 
centists  Francisco  Vanni,  Fungai,  and  Salimbeni 
cover  the  spaces  between  the  pilasters.  Thence  I 
was  taken  back  through  the  hall  to  a  graceful 
loggia  at  the  head  of  the  outside  stairs,  erected 
by  Peruzzi,  and  through  that  to  an  oratory  upon 
the  spot  where  the  garden  formerly  lay.  Here, 
upon  the  altar,  was  the  little  wooden  crucifix 
from  which  Catherine  is  said  to  have  received 
the  stigmata ;  the  walls  were  covered  with  me- 
diocre paintings.  I  descended  now,  by  the  inside 
front  stairs  of  the  house,  to  the  dwelling-rooms 
where  Catherine  lived  and  slept,  and  the  hard 
stone  floor  was  shown  where  for  years  she  re- 
clined her  tortured  body  at  night.  At  the  head  of 
this  "  bed, "  preserved  under  a  grating,  are  the 
bricks,  laid  with  their  edges  upward,  upon  which 
she  placed  her  head.  This  is  a  proof  that  human 
nature  can  get  accustomed  to  anything.  The 
saint  must  have  had  sleep  during  those  years  that 
she  lived  in  Siena,  and  she  had  it  on  this  pillow. 
I  saw  also  a  fragment  of  the  rough  hair  shirt 
that  she  wore  next  her  skin,  the  bag  in  which  her 
head  was  brought  from  Rome  in  triumph,  —  to 
be  placed  in  her  chapel  at  S.  Domenico,  —  and 
other  relics.  It  is  curious  how  people  of  those 
times  used  to  dismember  the  bodies  of  their  holy 
persons.  St.  Catherine's  body  is  scattered  all  over 
Italy  and  Europe,  amongst  a  hundred  churches 


SIENA  299 

who  rejoice  in  a  thigh,  a  rib,  a  finger,  or  even 
a  vertebra.  Most  of  these  relics  are,  of  course, 
alleged  to  have  worked  miracles.  We  could  not 
think  without  horror  to-day  of  cutting  off  the 
head  of  one  deceased  who  had  been  beloved  and 
revered. 

The  church  on  the  street-front,  occupying  the 
former  workshop  of  Giacomo,  was  uninteresting, 
and  I  went  on  down  the  slope  to  the  Fountain 
of  Fontebranda.  This  is  a  lavatory  for  clothes, 
filled  with  running  water  from  a  conduit  that  has 
been  in  use  for  nearly  a  thousand  years.  Three 
great  gothic  arches  cover  the  pool,  clear  as  pol- 
ished glass,  and  far  above  it  soar  on  each  side 
the  precipitous  grassy  cliffs  and  mighty  walls  of  S. 
Domenico  and  the  cathedral.  Eastward  the  Ward 
of  the  Goose  climbs  up  the  steep  slope  in  narrow 
winding  streets  between  tall  mediaeval  houses 
whose  top  stories  are  open  and  filled  with  dry- 
ing skins  that  impregnate  the  air  with  their 
peculiar  odor.  Westward  is  the  old  arched  city 
gate  that  Pandolfo  Petrucci  scaled  with  his  fol- 
lowers on  the  dark  night  of  July  21,  1487,  mak- 
ing an  end  of  the  Republic  of  Siena ;  to  it  the 
city  walls  leap  down  the  cliffs  on  each  side,  pic- 
turesquely clinging  to  every  chance  foothold.  It 
is  this  picturesqueness  of  the  spot,  together  with 
the  miracle  of  such  clear  water  in  an  Italian  city, 
that  gave  it  renown  six  hundred  years  ago ;  for 
Dante  and  Boccaccio  sang  its  praises. 


300  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  often  wandered  through  those  narrow  streets 
upon  the  slope  above ;  they  are  the  picturesque 
portion  of  Siena.  The  houses  are  tall  and  slim 
and  old,  showing  their  age  in  furrowed  stones 
and  crumbling  plaster ;  they  launch  here  and 
there  decaying  arches  across  the  ways,  under 
whose  rooms  the  streets  become  tunnels ;  they 
thrust  feeble  arms  to  the  opposite  walls  for  sup- 
port, leaning  upon  these  braces  with  decrepitude. 
Through  the  archways  one  catches  curious  vistas 
of  streets  falling  rapidly  away  below  him,  the 
roofs  descending  also  like  pairs  of  stairs.  And 
through  dark  tunnels  this  quarter  emerges  upon 
the  splendid  Via  Cavour,  contrasting  the  near-by 
squalor  with  the  palaces  of  the  Renaissance. 

One  may  be  sure  that  the  people  of  Siena  do 
not  wander  here.  When  the  blazing  sun  sinks 
toward  the  west  and  the  work  of  the  day  is  done, 
they  turn  their  steps  out  the  Via  Cavour  to  the 
Lizza,  to  walk  amongst  its  beautiful  flower-beds 
and  thickets  of  fine  trees.  A  merry,  happy  throng 
they  are,  for  the  Sienese  is  proverbially  light 
hearted ;  and  the  shady  walks  and  terraces  are  en- 
livened by  well-dressed,  pretty  children,  who  sing 
at  their  games.  I  will  admit  that  this  was  as 
pleasant  to  me  as  the  Ward  of  the  Goose.  I  had 
this  prospect  from  my  chamber  window ;  and  it 
always  lured  me  forth  towards  sunset,  however 
tired  I  might  be  from  the  day's  excursions,  to 
mingle  with  the  happy  throng  under  the  chest- 


HOUSES  UPHELD  BY  ARCHES  — SIENA 


SIENA  301 

nuts  and  ilexes,  and  catch  the  hues  and  fragrance 
of  the  brilliant  flowers.  I  used  to  stroll  over  to 
the  shadows  of  the  eastern  wall  of  Forte  S.  Bar- 
bara, where  there  were  quaint  booths  of  strolling 
players  amongst  the  trees,  and  where  a  game 
of  pelota  was  usually  being  played  by  white-flan- 
neled  experts  against  the  white  masonry.  Or 
sometimes  I  followed  another  branch  of  the 
throng  to  the  top  of  the  old  fortezza,  now  cov- 
ered with  foliage,  from  whose  outlying  bastions 
wonderful  views  ranged  out  over  the  city  and 
surrounding  country.  On  Sunday  afternoons  a 
band  always  played  in  the  Lizza,  by  the  Gari- 
baldi monument ;  and  then  the  gayety  was  at  its 
height.  The  fair  daughters  of  Siena  —  and  they 
are  very  fair  —  vied  with  the  flowers  in  their 
hundred  hues  of  raiment,  and  the  bright  uni- 
forms and  swords  of  officers  flashed  amongst  the 
crowd.  Thus  does  Siena,  ever  allegro,  after  all 
her  woes  and  miseries  of  the  past,  arise  smiling 
for  a  new  career. 


CHAPTER  XII 

VOLTERRA    AND    SAN    GIMIGNANO 

IN  the  first  days  of  the  Etruscans,  when  they 
had  just  occupied  the  country  between  the  Arno 
and  the  Tiber,  the  times  were  very  troublous, 
and  they  built  their  cities  for  defense  on  hill- 
tops. The  highest  hills  of  the  region,  save 
Amiata  and  a  few  peaks  clustered  about  her,  are 
the  range  of  mountains  extending  along  the  sea- 
coast  south  of  the  Arno;  their  loftiness  and 
vicinity  to  the  ocean  drew  the  attention  of  the 
Etruscans  —  naturally  a  seafaring  people  —  and 
here,  upon  an  isolated  cone  in  the  northern  part 
of  the  range,  they  raised  their  city  of  Velathri. 
Impregnable  itself  upon  its  precipitous  height, 
it  also  commanded  the  coast  to  the  west,  and  the 
luxuriant  valley  of  the  Arno  to  the  north,  with 
its  rich  vales  of  the  Elsa,  the  Evola,  and  the 
Era  running  down  from  Velathri's  hills.  This 
city  became  probably  the  most  important  and 
populous  emporium  of  the  Etruscans ;  and  when 
times  became  peaceful  and  they  assumed  com- 
mand of  the  sea,  developing  a  great  trade  with 
Africa  and  the  Orient,  its  importance  did  not 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          303 

diminish ;  for  the  principal  port  for  this  commerce 
arose  near  the  north  of  the  Arno,  within  a  few 
miles  of  Velathri,  which  thus  became  its  pro- 
tector, and  to  a  large  extent  its  recipient.  Ve- 
lathri's  prosperity  waned  only  with  the  coming 
of  the  Romans,  when  the  tide  of  foreign  com- 
merce ceased  to  flow;  and  she  almost  lost  her 
identity  under  the  new  name  of  Volterra  bestowed 
by  the  conquerors.  A  hundred  years  later  she 
still  retained  enough  vitality  to  withstand  for 
two  years  a  siege  by  the  Roman  troops  of  Sulla, 
which  makes  us  realize  what  her  strength  must 
have  been  in  her  prime ;  but  the  city  continued 
to  gradually  waste  away,  and  in  the  early  Middle 
Ages  suffered  almost  total  extinction.  Under  the 
Empire  of  Charlemagne,  Volterra  was  rebuilt  to 
some  extent,  with  the  collapse  of  that  power  in 
Italy  became  independent,  and  as  a  free  city  en- 
joyed for  two  centuries  or  so  a  new  and  flourish- 
ing career.  In  that  period,  like  all  the  hill  towns, 
she  drew  to  herself  the  population  of  the  country 
roundabout  for  protection  and  freedom,  devel- 
oped industries,  and  practiced  the  arts.  Within 
her  close  mediaeval  walls  rose  a  cathedral,  a  fine 
palazzo  pubblico,  and  a  great  many  private  pal- 
aces of  distinction,  built  at  first  in  the  gothic 
and  later  in  the  renaissance  styles.  Then,  when 
Florence,  Siena,  and  Perugia  had  outgrown  the 
other  towns  and  begun  to  lay  hands  on  them, 
came  the  Florentines  to  subjugate  Volterra. 


304  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

This  they  did  after  a  bloody  siege ;  and  in  spite 
of  several  rebellions,  the  arms  of  the  Medici  in 
due  time  permanently  replaced  on  the  walls  of 
the  Palazzo  Pubblico  those  of  the  free  republic. 

Volterra  is  still  about  as  inaccessible  as  in  the 
days  of  the  early  Etruscans.  No  railroad  has  suc- 
ceeded in  penetrating  the  mountain  range  even  to 
the  foot  of  her  lofty  height.  One  from  the  seacoast 
has  crawled  up  the  valley  of  the  Cecina  to  within 
two  hours'  drive,  and  one  from  the  Arno  has  suc- 
ceeded in  ascending  the  vale  of  the  Elsa  as  far 
as  Colle,  whence  it  is  a  four  hours'  drive.  The 
latter  route  is  the  nearest  from  Siena.  I  started 
for  Colle  one  bright  June  morning  when  it  looked 
less  like  rain  than  usual,  regretful  at  leaving  the 
beautiful  old  city  of  the  Noveschi,  but  full  of  an- 
ticipations long  held  for  the  ancient  metropolis 
of  the  Etruscans.  The  train,  which,  like  most 
upon  the  line,  was  a  combination  of  freight  and 
passenger  cars,  lumbered  slowly  northwestward 
up  the  slope  to  the  divide  of  Monte  Maggio, 
which  it  was  necessary  to  cross  before  reaching 
the  vale  of  the  Elsa.  The  problem  of  crossing  was 
solved  by  a  long  tunnel,  more  than  a  mile  in 
length,  from  which  we  emerged  upon  the  northern 
slope,  and  gravitated  downwards  more  rapidly. 
Here  the  scenery  was  at  once  utterly  different 
from  that  on  the  southern  side ;  instead  of  pau- 
city of  vegetation  and  bare  hills,  here  were  lux- 
uriance in  the  vales  and  thick  woods  on  the 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          305 

summits.  This  was  rich  soil,  bearing  vineyards, 
wheat,  and  olive  groves  in  profusion,  and  the 
dense  foliage  of  the  heights  added  to  the  sense 
of  abundance.  It  was  a  little  tributary  of  the 
Elsa  whose  course  we  were  following,  winding  in 
and  out  through  picturesque  glens  and  leafy  cov- 
erts, with  the  water  splashing  musically  below. 
We  reached  the  Elsa  itself  at  Poggibonsi,  where 
I  changed  cars  to  ascend  it  to  Colle.  This  little 
branch  climbs  due  southward  from  the  main  line 
at  an  acute  angle,  mounting  the  vale  of  the  Elsa 
by  many  turns  within  its  lofty  banks,  and  reaches 
Colle  in  less  than  twenty  minutes. 

Colle  is  another  example  of  modernity  over- 
coming medievalism ;  while  the  old  town  sits  be- 
hind its  battlements  on  the  hill-top  above,  a  new 
one  has  sprung  up  in  the  vale,  with  wide  streets, 
comfortable  dwellings,  and  several  factories.  I 
ordered  some  lunch  at  an  albergo  near  the  station, 
engaged  a  vettura,  and  while  the  lunch  was  be- 
ing prepared,  strolled  about  the  lower  town. 
These  modern  thoroughfares  seemed  like  one  of 
the  new  lower  quarters  of  Rome.  Most  of  the 
population  were  in  the  streets  chasing  with  ex- 
citement a  stray  lamb,  which  darted  about  bleat- 
ing in  a  frightened  state.  After  lunch  I  drove 
up  the  steep  hill-side  to  the  old  town,  and  looked 
about  its  dark,  tortuous  ways,  holding  here  and 
there  a  renaissance  palace  and  a  cathedral  of  no 
account.  Then  we  started  through  a  gateway  in 


306  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  fine  battlemented  wall  for  Volterra,  driving 
for  some  way  across  a  table-land  richly  cultivated 
with  grain  and  corn  —  the  first  that  I  had  seen. 
As  we  continued  westward  the  landscape  became 
gradually  very  hilly,  with  soft  glens  of  vineyards 
and  woods,  into  which  we  dipped,  and  rounded 
summits  bare  of  trees.  These  hills  increased  in 
size  until,  by  two  hours'  time,  they  had  become 
veritable  mountains,  along  whose  sides  we  crawled, 
climbing  from  rich  vales  to  their  barren  crests. 
We  were  now  well  in  the  coast  range,  and 
its  hundred  peaks  indented  the  horizon  on  every 
side.  The  scene  was  truly  alpine  in  its  grandeur ; 
and  it  might  have  been  the  Alps  themselves  that 
thus  billowed  away  on  every  side,  were  it  not  for 
the  little  gray  towns  that  looked  down  here  and 
there  from  behind  their  mediaeval  battlements, 
and  the  occasional  crumbling  castle  that  lifted  its 
mighty  keep  against  the  sky.  The  Tuscan  flowers 
still  were  with  us,  spreading  their  vivid  hues  over 
the  summits  of  the  lower  mounts,  and  descending 
the  slopes  to  the  rich  vegetation  of  the  valleys. 
The  beautiful  crimson  clover  was  especially  pro- 
lific, for  it  had  become  wild  here,  and  often  cov- 
ered a  whole  mountain  with  its  glowing  shades. 
Volterra  finally  came  in  sight  upon  its  isolated 
cone,  rising  to  a  far  height  with  a  valley  on 
every  side  —  towers  and  battlements  marked 
against  the  sky.  It  was  a  long  climb  upon  its 
flanks,  looping  back  and  forth  towards  the  sum- 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          307 

mit ;  but  at  last  we  approached  its  tremendous 
fortress,  which  loomed  vast  and  grim  upon  a 
rock  at  the  southeast  angle  of  the  town,  great 
round  bastions  jutting  out  at  the  corners,  and 
deep  brackets  raising  atop  the  walls  a  heavy 
machicolated  parapet.  I  know  of  no  castle  or 
fortress  of  so  imposing  a  situation  and  appear- 
ance. Antiquity  and  mighty  strength  show  in 
every  line  of  its  massive  stones  and  deep  barred 
windows.  The  older  part  was  constructed  in 
1343,  and  the  newer  by  the  Florentines  after  their 
capture  of  the  city.  Like  many  other  citadels,  it 
is  now  used  as  a  prison ;  and  this  was  the  reason 
£or  the  appearance  of  some  soldiers  whom  I  saw 
standing,  gun  in  hand,  outlined  against  the  blue 
on  a  great  tower  of  the  long  wall.  Just  so,  I 
thought,  did  the  Florentine  sentinels  stand  five 
hundred  years  ago,  with  morion,  corselet,  and 
halberd,  watching  for  any  sign  of  disturbance 
from  the  subjugated  country. 

We  coasted  along  its  vast  southern  wall,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  between  which  and 
the  precipice  there  was  just  room  for  the  road ; 
beyond  it  extended  the  city  wall,  of  mediaeval 
small  stones  upon  heavy  Etruscan  foundations. 
Beaching  an  opening  in  this,  we  turned  in,  to 
the  north,  entering  a  piazza  with  some  barracks 
on  the  right  and  the  albergo  at  the  inner  end. 
Once  settled  at  the  albergo,  which  I  found  very 
good  in  spite  of  this  distance  from  civilization,  I 


308  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

walked  out  upon  the  piazza  again.  To  the  west 
o£  it,  opposite  the  barracks,  the  town  dipped  into 
a  vale,  over  the  roofs  of  which  the  parapet  of  the 
piazza  looked,  to  the  towers  of  the  Palazzo  Pub- 
blico  rising  beyond.  This  outlook  was  very  pic- 
turesque ;  for  the  descending  roofs  of  the  houses 
in  the  vale  were  ancient  golden  brown  tiles,  the 
campanile  soaring  above  them  was  in  graceful 
renaissance  lines,  the  high  octagonal  drum  and 
dome  of  the  Baptistery  rose  beside  it,  and  to 
the  right  was  piled  up  the  lofty  Palazzo,  old  and 
mediaeval,  with  battlemented  walls  and  tower. 

But  the  view  from  the  front  of  the  piazza,  to 
the  southwest,  was  enough  to  take  one's  breath 
away.  Sheer  below  fell  the  mountain  side  for  a 
thousand  feet,  to  a  valley  fair  with  little  checkered 
fields  of  light  green  wheat  and  crimson  clover. 
This  valley  stretched  around  the  peak  to  the 
west,  and  to  the  east  where  we  had  climbed  from 
it.  On  the  further  side  of  it,  not  far  away, 
rose  other  mountain  walls,  precipitous  and  grim, 
rounding  into  summits  where  the  clover  glistened; 
and  over  these  summits  looked  higher  peaks, 
more  rocky  and  serrated,  cutting  the  wide  horizon 
with  their  hundred  teeth.  In  this  mass  of  moun- 
tains there  was  one  opening,  just  opposite,  to 
the  southwest,  where  sloped  a  green  valley  to  the 
sea.  I  could  see  gleaming  in  it  the  little  river 
of  Cecina,  and  a  tiny  gray  town  which  was  prob- 
ably Saline,  the  end  of  the  railroad  from  the 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO  309 

coast.  Then  far  beyond,  at  the  end  of  this  de- 
file —  most  wonderful  of  all  —  glimmered  faintly 
the  water  of  the  sea,  the  blue  Mediterranean  it- 
self. There  it  was,  set  like  a  gem  between  the 
dark  mountain  slopes,  speaking  of  Corsica  be- 
yond, and  Spain,  and  the  pillars  of  Hercules,  and 
the  shores  of  home,  that  its  waves  splashed  four 
thousand  miles  away. 

Turning  from  this  fascinating  scene,  I  left  the 
piazza  by  the  albergo  and  descended  the  narrow 
street  that  led  down  the  adjacent  vale  between 
high  old  crumbling  stucco  fapades.  At  the  bot- 
tom was  the  medieval  city  wall  with  a  gate  in- 
tact from  Etruscan  days,  —  the  Porta  all'  Arco. 
The  arch  was  about  twenty  feet  high,  twelve 
feet  wide,  and  fully  twenty  feet  in  thickness, 
thus  showing  the  tremendous  solidity  of  the  an- 
cient Etruscan  wall,  which  here  coincided  with 
the  later  wall.  It  was  built  of  huge  blocks  of  pe- 
perino  laid  in  careful  lateral  courses,  the  stones 
being  two  feet  in  width  and  varying  from  three 
to  eight  in  length.  On  the  outside  of  the  arch 
I  saw  three  mutilated  sculptured  heads,  of  in- 
distinguishable features,  their  defacement  telling 
plainly  of  the  countless  spears  of  entering  horse- 
men that  had  struck  them  since  they  first  looked 
down  over  two  thousand  years  ago.  This  was 
probably  the  principal  entrance  of  the  Etruscan 
city,  which  occupied  the  mountain-top  with  an 
area  ten  times  greater  than  the  present  town. 


310  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Volterra  of  to-day  takes  up  but  the  southeast 
corner  of  old  Velathri,  whose  walls  can  be  traced 
far  to  the  north  and  west  in  fragments  of  mighty 
masonry,  making  a  circuit  of  nearly  five  miles. 
Volterra  has  but  5500  inhabiants ;  Velathri  must 
have  had  well  over  50,000. 

I  reascended  the  street  leading  up  from  the 
Porta  all'  Arco,  and  turning  to  the  left  at  the  top, 
found  myself  immediately  in  the  central  piazza, 
—  a  piazza  of  amazing  picturesqueness.  On  the 
south  rose  the  thirteenth  century  Palazzo  Muni- 
cipio,  with  its  high  dark  walls  and  gothic  win- 
dows, with  its  battlemented  parapet  and  lofty 
machicolated  tower.  It  is  a  pure  type  of  the 
irregular,  picturesque  fortress-gothic ;  in  the 
ground  story  a  single  great  shadowy  pointed 
arch  affords  entrance,  un  decorated,  speaking  of 
dark  narrow  corridors,  little  winding  stairways, 
and  horrid  dungeons  below.  This  impression  is 
heightened  by  the  small  rectangular  barred  win- 
dows of  the  same*  story,  deep-set  in  the  thick 
walls.  Above  them  are  affixed  a  string  of  me- 
diaeval coat-of-arms  and  a  row  of  heavy  plain 
corbels  for  the  support  of  a  balcony  that  has  long 
disappeared.  Then  come  the  lighter  windows  of 
the  upper  stories,  two  in  each  pointed  arch,  sepa- 
rated by  a  slim  marble  mullion ;  and  these  win- 
dows wander  sparingly  and  irregularly  about  the 
grim  fagade,  as  if  afraid  to  lighten  it  by  their 
grace. 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          311 

But  on  first  entering  the  piazza  one  does  not 
merely  see  this  palazzo ;  he  sees  a  dozen  others 
of  similar  size  and  picturesqueness  stretching 
around  the  spacious  square,  raising  massive  an- 
cient walls,  looking  down  with  a  thousand  quaint 
windows  of  arch  and  column,  menacing  with 
heavy  battlements  and  fortress  towers.  Nowhere 
else  is  there  such  a  perfect  mediaeval  piazza; 
there  is  not  a  breath  of  the  Renaissance  in  it,  or 
a  hint  of  later  days  than  those  of  lance  and  bat- 
tle-axe and  foray.  It  is  a  true  square  of  the  dark 
ages,  —  which  were  not  dark  to  the  free  burgh- 
ers of  this  mountain  town,  —  remaining  just  as 
it  was  when  they  congregated  with  sober  gowns 
and  tasseled  caps  to  discuss  the  doings  of  their 
republic,  and  when  their  elected  priori  sat  in 
crimson  state  behind  the  stray  windows  of  the 
Municipio. 

I  entered  the  sombre  doorway  of  the  public 
palace,  looked  from  the  vaulted  vestibule  down  a 
winding  stone  stairway  that  led  to  greater  dark- 
ness and  dungeons  below,  and  mounted  another 
such  to  the  lofty  rooms  of  the  priori  above.  In 
one  of  these  I  found  the  little  municipal  art  col- 
lection, hung  about  the  four  walls  which  listened 
for  two  centuries  to  the  deliberations  of  the 
fathers  of  the  state.  Amongst  the  pictures  was  a 
Signorelli,  so  altered  as  to  be  of  no  account,  and 
a  Ghirlandajo  of  wonderful  beauty.  This  Flor- 
entine quattrocentist  had  created  a  Christ  in  Glory, 


312  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

with  saints  below,  in  a  deep,  glowing,  mystical 
atmosphere,  of  superb  composition,  execution,  and 
coloring,  dominated  by  a  grace  that  enthralls  the 
spectator.  I  looked  at  it  long,  lost  in  the  hazy 
landscape  with  those  luminous,  beautiful  saints, 
and  was  loath  to  return  to  the  mediaeval  world 
without. 

The  cathedral  lies  just  back  of  the  Palazzo 
Municipio,  with  its  apse  against  the  rear  of  the 
palace  and  its  fagade  upon  a  little  piazza  to  the 
south.  I  found  the  entrance,  however,  to  be  by  a 
passage  from  the  main  piazza  that  runs  alongside 
the  Municipio,  reaching  a  door  beside  the  apse  ; 
and  by  this  I  effected  ingress  to  its  picturesque 
interior.  It  was  built  as  long  ago  as  the  begin- 
ning of  the  twelfth  century,  and  this  age  is  indi- 
cated by  the  ancient  columns  separating  the  low 
aisles  from  the  nave.  A  soft  low  light  filters  in 
only  from  the  rose  window  of  the  fagade,  unable 
to  disperse  the  mediaeval  gloom  that  lingers  about 
the  side-altars  and  the  choir.  The  choir  and  tran- 
septs are  considerably  elevated  above  the  nave, 
so  that  from  it  one  looks  dimly  up  a  wide  flight 
of  steps  to  the  high  altar  at  the  top,  glimmering 
with  half  a  dozen  candles.  There  is  a  fascinating 
twelfth  century  pulpit,  raised  upon  the  backs  of 
four  uncouth  and  crouching  lions,  sculptured  with 
quaint  figures  upon  its  parapet ;  and  beside  the 
high  altar  two  lovely  marble  candelabra  cut  with 
garlands  and  upheld  by  angels  —  a  work  of  Mino 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          313 

da  Fiesole.  About  the  walls  of  the  aisles  and 
transepts  are  quite  a  number  of  fine  old  tombs, 
including  the  richly  sculptured  sarcophagus  of 
St.  Octavianus.  But  the  treasures  of  the  Duomo 
are  in  its  chapel  of  S.  Carlo,  opening  out  of  the 
right  transept ;  here  are  numerous  canvases  and 
altar-pieces,  covered  carefully  with  cloths,  which 
the  usual  old  woman  removed  for  me,  jangling  as 
she  did  so  a  bunch  of  enormous  keys.  Amongst 
them  I  saw  a  lovely  Sienese  Madonna  by  Taddeo 
di  Bartolo,  and  an  Annunciation  by  Signorelli 
of  beautiful  coloring  and  genuine  grace  (and 
when  he  did  attain  grace,  joined  with  his  usual 
power  of  composition  and  execution,  it  produced 
a  remarkable  result).  Best  of  ah1,  there  was  a 
little  predella  by  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  portraying 
scenes  from  the  New  Testament  and  a  Madonna 
in  Glory  of  astonishing  beauty.  This  master, 
whom  I  had  last  seen  at  Montefalco,  spent  con- 
siderable time  in  this  part  of  the  Florentine  ter- 
ritory, and  left  at  San  Gimignano,  upon  the  walls 
of  its  church  of  S.  Agostino,  his  masterpieces. 

Leaving  the  cathedral  and  the  piazza,  I  fol- 
lowed the  principal  streets  of  the  town  northwest- 
ward to  the  gate  of  S.  Francesco,  passing  mostly 
stuccoed  dwellings  of  the  last  few  centuries,  with 
occasionally  a  dark  stone  fagade  of  earlier  days, 
or  a  heavy  mediaeval  tower.  The  gate  is  a  con- 
struction of  the  Middle  Ages,  set  in  the  walls  of 
that  period,  and  made  picturesque  by  two  great 


314  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

battlemented  towers  that  jut  out  close  at  hand. 
I  followed  these  walls  on  their  outside  for  some 
way,  returning  to  the  southeast,  towards  the  Porta 
all'  Arco,  skirting  the  edge  of  the  precipice  ;  and 
they  swelled  and  dipped  brokenly  over  the  in- 
equalities of  the  ground,  showing  brown-tiled  roofs 
over  their  crumbling  tops.  To  the  right  was  the 
same  wonderful  view  of  valley  and  mountains  soar- 
ing beyond.  Reaching  another  medieval  gate,  — 
a  curious  one,  approached  by  a  flight  of  steps  and 
therefore  constructed  only  for  pedestrians,  —  I 
climbed  back  to  the  main  street ;  and  from  it,  by 
diverging  to  the  right  before  arriving  at  the  cen- 
tral piazza,  I  found  the  little  piazza  of  the  Duomo. 
The  Duomo  thrust  upon  it  a  quaint  old  roman- 
esque  fagade,  in  consonance  with  its  interior; 
opposite  rose  the  octagonal  Baptistery,  with  a 
front  of  marble  in  alternate  stripes  of  dark  and 
white.  This  building  is  supposed  to  have  been 
erected  as  early  as  the  seventh  century.  Its  in- 
terior I  found  rather  bare,  although  it  contains 
a  graceful  marble  arch  above  the  high  altar,  cut 
with  traceries,  and  a  handsome  octagonal  font 
and  ciborium. 

Volterra  speaks  of  the  Florentine  domination 
with  its  great  fortress  and  its  plastered  buildings 
of  two  to  five  centuries  ago  as  well  as  with  an 
occasional  stone  palace  of  renaissance  days;  it 
speaks  of  the  Republic  with  its  Piazza  Maggiore, 
Palazzo  Municipio,  and  grim  mediaeval  towers  and 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          315 

walls ;  it  speaks  of  the  Etruscan  metropolis  only 
with  its  Porta  all'  Arco,  fragments  here  and  there 
of  the  early  enceinture,  and  the  relics  of  those 
days  in  its  museum.  But  these  relics  are  quite 
remarkable.  I  found  the  museum  at  the  eastern 
end  of  the  town  near  the  cathedral,  in  a  hand- 
some building  entirely  devoted  to  its  use.  Here 
were  over  four  hundred  sarcophagi,  cinerary  urns, 
and  vases  for  the  reception  of  the  bones  only, 
adorned  with  a  vast  variety  of  reliefs.  The  gen- 
eral execution  was  poor,  as  elsewhere,  but  some 
of  it  was  admirable.  The  subjects  were  either 
Etruscan,  depicting  the  departure  of  the  deceased 
for  Paradise  on  foot  or  horseback  or  by  boat,  or 
Grecian,  illustrating  many  legends  with  which  we 
are  familiar.  Here  was  the  abduction  of  Helen 
by  Paris,  the  voyage  of  Ulysses  past  the  rock  of 
the  Sirens,  (Edipus  and  the  Sphinx ;  and  there 
were  numerous  battle  scenes,  in  one  of  which  — 
an  assault  upon  the  city  —  the  Porta  all*  Arco  was 
introduced,  showing  the  three  heads  over  the  arch 
as  they  originally  looked.  It  was  extraordinary  to 
see  this  representation,  made  twenty-two  hundred 
years  ago,  of  something  that  still  exists  to-day, 
when  nearly  all  other  traces  of  the  men  that  made 
it  have  vanished.  Here  also  I  found  some  tombs 
of  prehistoric  men,  constructed  of  square  slabs  of 
stone,  with  fragments  of  bones  and  stone  imple- 
ments found  in  them. 

After  a  night  at  the  albergo,  comfortably  passed 


316  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

in  one  of  its  great  beds,  in  a  tiled  room  large 
enough  for  a  dancing-hall,  I  started  for  San 
Gimignano  in  the  morning.  We  descended  to  the 
surrounding  valley  by  the  way  we  had  come,  and 
continued  to  follow  back  the  same  route  over  the 
mountains  for  about  two  hours,  till  Volterra  and 
its  peak  had  long  disappeared  from  sight.  Then 
we  turned  north,  soon  bringing  San  Gimignano 
to  view  with  its  many  towers  against  the  sky.  A 
deep  valley  intervened,  which  we  had  to  descend 
and  ascend  laboriously, — a  valley  filled  with  ut- 
ter luxuriance  of  vegetation,  in  sharp  contrast  to 
the  bare  mountain-tops  above.  On  the  other  side 
there  appeared  a  table-land,  from  which  the  near- 
ing  city  was  raised  on  its  hill  but  a  few  hundred 
feet.  Its  beetling  towers  seemed  to  extend  over 
a  wide  circuit;  and  they  really  did  so  in  the 
days  when  San  Gimignano  was,  like  Volterra,  a 
prosperous  and  happy  republic.  The  fratricidal 
struggles  of  its  noble  families,  however,  so  weak- 
ened it  that  it  became  an  easy  prey  to  the  am- 
bitious Florentines;  the  fifty  towers  have  been 
reduced  to  fourteen,  and  the  large  population 
to  three  thousand.  But  situated  at  this  remote 
height,  out  of  the  way  of  modern  industry  and 
life,  it  has  never  lost  its  mediaeval  buildings ;  so 
that  it  is  famous  to-day  for  its  accurate  appear- 
ance of  the  Middle  Ages,  as  well  as  for  its  early 
renaissance  frescoes.  Gozzoli,  Lippo  Memmi,  the 
Bartolos,  Ghirlandajo,  and  others  brought  their 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO  317 

genius  here  at  a  time  when  the  city,  though  under 
the  Florentine  rule,  still  retained  considerable 
wealth  and  importance. 

Approaching  the  town  now  from  the  west,  we 
reached  its  crumbling  brick  walls  of  the  dark 
ages,  thrusting  out  here  and  there  a  loftier  bas- 
tion, and  made  a  quarter  circuit  under  them  to 
the  northern  gate.  Within  this  I  saw  the  main 
street  stretching  away  directly  to  the  south,  climb- 
ing the  hill-top  to  the  central  group  of  towers ; 
upon  it,  near  the  gate,  was  the  albergo,  dis- 
tinguished by  a  wooden  sign  swung  before  it 
upon  a  rod,  with  a  rampant  beast  upon  the  sign. 
Here  I  deposited  my  baggage,  and  after  a  little 
lunch  started  up  the  street.  It  was  a  fairly  wide 
thoroughfare,  well-paved  with  large  blocks  of 
pietra  serena,  left  over  from  the  days  when  San 
Gimignano  was  a  town  of  thirty  thousand  instead 
of  three.  The  majority  of  the  fagades  upon  it 
were  stuccoed,  as  elsewhere ;  but  the  plaster 
showed  age,  and  so  did  the  fronts  of  plain,  un- 
decorated  stone,  crumbled  at  the  edges.  Ahead 
a  dark  archway  blocked  the  way,  and  above 
soared  the  grim  square  towers  like  a  bunch  of 
spears.  The  gateway  comes  down  from  the  earli- 
est epoch,  when  it  marked  the  limits  of  the  town 
on  this  side,  before  the  prosperity  of  republican 
days  extended  it  northwards  down  the  hill.  It  is 
a  plain  old  arch  blackened  and  seamed  by  time, 
—  a  gate  in  the  ancient  city  wall.  Close  within 


318  HILL  TOWNS  OP  ITALY 

it  to  the  right  I  passed  two  towers  rising  side  by 
side  from  mediaeval  dwellings,  their  squared  dark 
stones  almost  touching,  alike  in  thickness  and 
height;  queer  twins  of  a  time  when  the  impor- 
tance of  a  citizen  was  measured  by  the  loftiness 
of  his  building.  The  houses  from  which  these 
sprang  were  not  much  larger  than  their  own  di- 
ameter ;  no  windows  marked  their  stern  upward 
flight,  for  they  were  constructed  for  the  business 
of  internecine  warfare.  Those  were  strange  days, 
when  a  city  waxed  and  flourished  in  proportion 
as  its  people  fought  amongst  themselves,  like  the 
Spartan  youth  carrying  the  wolf  in  his  bosom  for 
the  development  of  his  courage  and  fortitude. 
But  here  the  city  could  not  cast  out  the  wolf 
when  it  had  done  its  work ;  it  grew  large  enough 
to  rend  the  breast  that  carried  it.  The  Salvucci 
who  lived  in  these  twin  donjons  were  one  of  the 
two  leading  families  of  the  Republic ;  and  they 
continued  to  struggle  with  their  mortal  enemies, 
the  Ardinghelli,  through  decades  of  recriminating 
slaughter  and  devastation,  until  the  Florentine 
entered  from  without. 

Shortly  beyond  I  entered  the  Piazza,  where 
beat  the  pulse  of  that  savage  state,  and  saw  ris- 
ing about  it  the  same  grim  walls  that  looked 
down  upon  its  assemblies  and  conflicts  six  hun- 
dred years  ago.  There  was  the  battlemented 
Palazzo  Pubblico  on  the  south,  the  old  cathedral 
on  the  west,  and  the  Palazzo  del  Podesta  on  the 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          319 

east,  with  a  round  archway.  On  the  north  and 
about  the  Podesta  rose  mediaeval  private  houses, 
and  all  around  soared  the  dark  square  towers  into 
the  blue  sky,  frowning  still  as  savagely  at  each 
other  as  they  did  when  bowmen  thronged  their 
lofty  parapets.  It  was  a  most  interesting  piazza, 
not  large,  yet  telling  more  than  a  dozen  books 
could  tell  of  the  extraordinary  life  of  a  mediaeval 
Italian  city.  There  swept  the  beautiful  wide 
flight  of  stone  steps  up  to  the  graceful  fagade  of 
the  Duomo,  which  looked  peacefully  down  them 
upon  the  battlemented  square  when  citizens  were 
slaughtering  each  other  upon  its  pavement.  Did 
not  the  message  which  it  spoke  ever  deter  them 
from  their  savagery?  Probably  not.  They  saw 
no  incongruity  in  the  religion  of  Christ  and  the 
worst  passions  of  men  standing  thus  side  by  side ; 
and  we  know  that  the  people  who  attacked  each 
other  in  the  morning  went  quietly  to  benediction 
service  in  the  afternoon.  Religion  was  then  some- 
thing outside  and  above  every-day  life,  with  which 
it  had  nothing  to  do.  How  vastly  was  the  mission 
of  St.  Francis  needed  to  regenerate  the  world ! 
But  its  work  was  accomplished  very  slowly,  and 
did  not  attain  genuine  fruition  for  centuries  after 
his  death. 

The  battlemented  Palazzo  Pubblico  has  been 
extensively  repaired;  but  its  simple  low-arched 
windows,  three  in  a  story,  and  the  discolorations 
and  scars  of  its  fa£ade,  speak  clearly  of  the  days 


320  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

when  pompous  priori  ruled  from  it  the  wide  val- 
ley of  the  Elsa.  However  filled  with  life  it  must 
have  been  then,  it  was  quite  deserted  now.  I 
looked  in  vain  for  a  living  soul  about  the  pre- 
mises, until  a  small  boy  hovering  near  volun- 
teered to  run  for  the  custodian.  While  waiting 
for  him  an  old  man  appeared,  whose  sole  occu- 
pation was  the  keeping  of  the  tower,  and  he 
besought  me  so  earnestly  to  ascend  it  that  I 
yielded.  The  climb  was  a  long  and  really  perilous 
one,  upon  a  series  of  ladder-stairs  suspended  within 
the  lofty  shell  by  ancient  beams  running  from 
wall  to  wall,  that  threatened  to  give  way  at  every 
step ;  but  at  the  top,  where  hung  a  massive  bell 
which  is  rung  on  festal  occasions,  the  view  was 
superb.  Below  lay  the  little  town,  shrunk  within 
its  mediaeval  walls  to  the  single  street  running 
north  and  south,  and  a  couple  branching  off  from 
it  to  the  east ;  and  at  this  height  I  could  look 
down  on  the  flat  tops  of  the  other  towers.  Im- 
mediately to  the  west  and  within  the  walls  rose 
the  ruins  of  the  ancient  citadel,  —  a  crumbling 
stone  enceinture,  holding  no  castle  now,  but  a 
garden  of  bushes  and  fruit  trees.  Over  the  wide 
rolling  country  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  played 
here  and  there  and  masked  in  gloom  the  summits 
of  the  coast  range  to  the  west,  where  sat  Volterra 
on  her  peak,  invisible.  To  the  southeast  loomed 
Monte  Maggio,  hiding  with  its  long  gray  ridge 
the  campagna  and  city  of  Siena.  To  the  north 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          321 

stretched  the  fair  valley  of  the  Elsa,  rich  with 
vegetation,  veering  to  the  west  as  it  sloped  down- 
wards to  the  distant  level  plain  of  the  Arno ;  and 
in  it  sparkled  white  in  the  sun  three  ancient 
towns,  raising  their  towered  feudal  castles  on 
crags  beside  them,  —  Certaldo,  Castelfiorentino, 
and  San  Miniato.  Here  was  the  country  over 
which  Florentines  and  Sienese  marched  and 
counter-marched  for  centuries,  taking  and  retak- 
ing cities,  striking  an  occasional  blow  at  each 
other,  and  inflicting  the  most  misery  on  the  in- 
habitants. 

On  descending  I  found  the  custodian  of  the 
palazzo  waiting,  who  conducted  me  to  the  Sala 
del  Consiglio,  or  grand  council-hall,  upon  the 
first  floor ;  a  room  of  moderate  height  and  some 
fifty  by  thirty  feet  in  size,  bare  now  of  furniture, 
save  some  benches  and  chairs,  but  once  richly 
adorned  for  the  ceremonials  of  the  priori.  Here 
came  Dante  in  1299  as  ambassador  from  Florence, 
to  request  the  San  Gimignanans  to  send  dele- 
gates to  a  meeting  of  the  Guelph  cities.  How 
strange,  I  thought,  to  feel  that  these  stones  were 
actually  trodden  by  the  "  divine  poet "  and  these 
walls  heard  his  voice.  Upon  the  back  wall  I  saw 
Lippo  Memmi's  great  fresco,  larger  and  more 
monumental  than  any  work  he  left  in  Siena, — 
a  "Majestas"  with  many  figures  of  life-size.  In 
doing  this  he  submitted  himself  to  comparison 
with  Martine's  similar  "  Majestas  "  in  the  Palazzo 


322  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Communale  at  Siena,  and  we  see  that  although 
a  generation  later,  he  had  not  Martine's  grace 
and  execution.  Yet  the  picture  is  beautiful,  of 
that  orderly,  balanced  sedateness  which  achieves 
beauty  chiefly  by  its  gilding  and  coloring. 

On  the  third  floor  of  this  building  is  the 
municipal  art  gallery,  in  which  I  found  a  fine 
Annunciation  by  Filippino  Lippi,  of  pleasant 
warm  tone  and  pretty  landscape,  and  a  Madonna 
in  Glory  by  Pinturicchio  of  most  extraordinary 
beauty.  She  is  seated  on  white  fleecy  clouds 
above  a  charming  paysage,  with  her  bare  feet 
upon  the  heads  of  two  lovely  cherubs,  surrounded 
by  others  of  these  cherubs  in  an  oval  ring,  with 
two  kneeling  saints  looking  up  at  her  from  the 
ground ;  and  with  hands  in  prayerful  attitude 
she  is  bending  her  beautiful  face  downwards  in  a 
mixture  of  gentleness,  humility,  and  glory.  The 
grace  of  the  whole  composition,  and  the  grace  of 
every  line  of  the  Madonna's  figure,  hands,  and 
countenance,  are  marvelous.  Yet  joined  with 
this  is  a  deep  splendor  of  coloring,  not  hard  and 
bright  like  his  retouched  frescoes  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Siena,  but  softly  intense,  humid,  golden, 
glowing  as  if  by  a  hidden  light.  The  rich  crim- 
son of  the  Virgin's  robe  is  made  more  lustrous 
by  the  creamy  white  and  lavender  of  the  garments 
of  the  saints  below.  What  a  genius  indeed  was 
this  little  hunchback,  Bernardino  Betti  of  Um- 
bria,  who  displayed  the  height  of  power  in  every 
branch  of  his  art ! 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO          323 

After  looking  at  some  insignificant  and  almost 
obliterated  figures  by  Sodoma  —  how  very  often 
he  did  not  try !  —  in  the  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  I  left  the  palazzo  and  entered  the  cathedral. 
This  is  an  edifice  of  the  twelfth  century,  with  fine 
old  stone  columns  and  lofty  aisles  so  filled  with 
paintings  as  to  be  a  veritable  museum.  Gozzoli 
covered  the  entrance  wall  with  a  huge  Martyr- 
dom of  St.  Sebastian,  and  many  saints ;  Taddeo 
di  Bartolo  placed  above  this  and  upon  the  neigh- 
boring arches  of  the  nave  a  Paradise,  an  Inferno, 
and  a  Last  Judgment ;  Barna  da  Siena,  an  unim- 
portant trecentist,  spread  over  all  the  walls  of  the 
left  aisle  a  story  of  the  Life  of  Christ ;  and  Bar- 
tolo di  Fredi,  having  a  like  space  in  the  right  aisle 
to  fill,  and  desiring  to  show  once  for  all  what  he 
could  do,  colored  it  with  an  extraordinary  suc- 
cession of  animated  scenes  from  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. These  last  are  extraordinary  because  they 
are  so  extensive,  grotesque,  and  full  of  action  ; 
they  surpass  Barna's  work  in  the  left  aisle,  and 
they  fall  behind  his  contemporary  Taddeo  di 
Bartolo's  work  at  Siena.  Besides  all  these  paint- 
ings, Ghirlandajo  a  century  later  filled  the  chapel 
of  Santa  Fina  on  the  right  with  frescoes,  and 
these  are  pictures  of  great  skill  and  fine  coloring. 
Finally,  in  the  choir  there  are  many  altar-pieces, 
including  a  Madonna  by  Tamagni,  the  pupil  of 
Raphael,  that  is  truly  Raphaelesque  in  its  ex- 
quisite beauty. 


324  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

On  leaving  the  cathedral  I  continued  south- 
wards on  the  main  street,  and  came  immediately 
to  a  second  piazza,  surrounded  by  old  stone  and 
stuccoed  dwellings  and  a  couple  of  grim  towers, 
with  the  ancient  fountain  of  the  town  in  its 
centre.  Thence  branched  off  to  the  east  one  of 
the  two  side  streets,  which  I  followed  down  the 
hill-side  between  fagades  with  occasional  curious 
imbedded  arches  of  terra-cotta  moulding,  and 
found  the  prison  at  the  bottom.  A  prison  seems 
an  essential  in  every  Italian  town,  however  small ; 
and  here,  in  default  of  the  old  fortress  being 
habitable,  they  had  to  build  one.  This  great 
prison  population  does  not  speak  well  for  Italy, 
and  must  be  a  drain  upon  its  resources  second 
only  to  that  of  the  army  and  the  clergy. 

A  walk  to  the  southern  gate  was  equally  un- 
eventful, beyond  the  ever-present  picturesque 
vistas  of  dark  old  facades  and  menacing  towers ; 
and  I  returned  to  the  northern  gate,  near  which 
is  the  large  church  of  San  Agostino.  In  this 
are  Gozzoli's  famous  frescoes.  They  cover  both 
sides  of  the  choir,  in  a  good  light  from  the  rear 
window,  and  portray  in  seventeen  large  scenes 
the  life  of  Saint  Augustine.  They  are  in  hard 
bright  colors  and  wonderful  clean-cut  execution. 
Gozzoli  shows  here  greater  powers  than  at  Mon- 
tef alco,  handling  his  crowds  of  figures  with  as- 
tonishing skill  and  balance,  creating  an  atmos- 
phere of  perfect  realism  and  perspective,  and 


STREET   SCENE  — SAN    GIMIGNANO 


VOLTERRA  AND  SAN  GIMIGNANO  325 

endowing  his  groups,  individual  figures,  and  faces 
with  great  grace  and  beauty.  He  introduces  the 
saint  three  times  in  the  same  picture,  in  a  num- 
ber of  the  scenes,  with  such  deftness  that  it  seems 
quite  natural.  Gozzoli's  remarkable  superiority  to 
other  artists  of  this  period  (1465)  is  realized  when 
we  compare  this  composition,  grace,  and  execution 
with  the  failures  of  the  Sienese  quattrocentists 
and  with  the  work  of  the  Umbrians  Buonfigli  and 
Niccolb  da  Foligno. 

On  the  following  morning  I  arose  at  six  o'clock 
and  drove  down  the  hills  to  Poggibonsi  to  catch 
the  early  train  for  Florence.  The  freshness  of  the 
summer  dawn  and  the  fragrance  of  the  dewy 
fields  and  wild  flowers  enveloped  us  as  we  rolled 
downwards  between  vineyards  and  olive  groves. 
The  hills,  here  softly  rounded,  curved  about  on 
every  side  in  constantly  varying  undulations,  the 
clover  and  poppies  covering  the  fields  upon  their 
slopes,  and  the  black  cypresses  mounting  them 
in  double  files  along  a  road,  or  cresting  them 
against  the  sky.  In  this  vaporous  balmy  atmos- 
phere each  breath  was  a  delight,  and  over  these 
billowing  meadows  and  gentle  woods  each  look 
was  a  happiness.  Now  and  then  we  met  a  peasant 
driving  his  great  team  of  snow-white  oxen,  with 
their  huge  branching  horns  and  gay  red  ribbons 
hanging  about  the  eyes.  An  hour  brought  us  to 
Poggibonsi,  where  I  bade  adieu  to  my  good  vet- 
turino  and  the  fast  horse  which  had  pulled  us  for 
three  days,  and  caught  the  Florence  train. 


326  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

We  descended  rapidly  the  valley  of  the  Elsa, 
with  its  luxuriant  growing  crops  of  wheat  and 
oats  and  corn,  passing  farmhouses  situated  in  the 
fields  and  modern-looking  villages  that  all  spoke 
of  the  adoption  of  nineteenth  century  ideas.  How 
different  was  this  from  the  antiquity  of  southern 
Etruria  —  from  the  medievalism  of  southern 
Umbria  !  Here  were  not  only  detached  comfort- 
able dwellings  and  villages  with  wide  modern 
streets,  but  everything  had  an  air  of  prosperity. 
I  think  that  the  people  fare  very  well  in  that  rich 
valley.  We  passed  Certaldo,  Castelfiorentino,  and 
San  Miniato,  which  I  had  last  seen  from  the  top 
of  that  tower  now  far  away,  and  rolled  into  the 
plain  of  the  Arno  at  Empoli.  From  there  to 
Florence  it  was  a  quick  run  up  the  river,  pic- 
turesque when  we  threaded  the  defile  between 
the  middle  and  lower  plains,  with  the  hills  rising 
steeply  above  on  each  side  and  the  water  dashing 
along  below.  Emerging  from  this  we  traversed 
the  middle  plain  of  the  Arno,  seeing  Prato  off  to 
the  left  against  its  mountain  side ;  and  soon,  at 
a  sudden  turn,  the  vast  dome  of  Brunelleschi 
shot  into  view  ahead,  over  the  tree-tops  of  the 
Cascine,  with  Giotto's  wonderful  campanile  beside 
it,  and  the  grim  old  battlemented  tower  of  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  to  the  right,  speaking  of  Savo- 
narola and  Donatello  and  Michel  Angelo  and  the 
hundred  other  heroes  who  made  Florence  the 
garden  of  the  Renaissance. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AREZZO,   SANSEPOLCRO,  AND   CITTA   DI   CASTELLO 

SHORTLY  to  the  east  of  Florence  the  valley  of  the 
Arno  contracts  again  to  a  defile  which  winds  up 
to  the  southeast  between  the  Monti  del  Chianti 
and  the  Prato  Magno ;  and  on  leaving  that  city 
for  Arezzo  early  one  June  morning  I  soon  found 
the  train  climbing  between  the  precipitous  flanks 
of  those  mountains,  clad  —  where  the  slopes  were 
not  gentle  enough  for  vine  and  olive  —  with  a 
dense  growth  of  bushes  and  woods.  We  followed 
the  tortuous  course  of  the  stream  as  it  splashed 
along  under  willow  trees,  passing  an  occasional 
village  nestled  on  its  banks  with  dam  and  water- 
wheel  ;  and  ever  here  and  there  in  the  lofty  walls 
of  verdure  glistened  white  the  facades  of  farm- 
houses and  villas.  In  these  walls  charming  glens 
often  opened  out,  reaching  up  towards  the  moun- 
tain-tops, with  little  hamlets  tucked  in  their  um- 
brageous depths.  At  Pontassieve  the  valley  of 
the  Sieve  came  grandly  in  from  the  north,  cut- 
ting a  deep  wedge  for  its  wide  stream  in  the  hill- 
sides; and  the  ancient  bridge  which  gave  the 
town  its  name  spanned  the  river  with  half  a  dozen 


328  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

great  arches,  over  which  I  saw  white  houses 
stretching  along  the  green  banks  beyond  to  cone- 
like  peaks  towering  far  overhead. 

All  this  was  truly  Florentine  country,  with  the 
scattering  villages  and  villas  built  in  those  renais- 
sance days  when  the  Mistress  of  the  Arno  gave 
peace  and  security  to  her  territory.  And  it  was 
still  Florentine  country  when  the  defile  opened 
out  into  the  upper  valley  of  the  Arno,  the  moun- 
tains graciously  receding  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Figline,  and  holding  between  them  another  of 
those  beautiful  upland  plains  that  constitute  the 
fertility  of  Italy,  for  whose  possession  men  have 
always  fought  and  made  history.  This  plain 
swept  away,  in  its  luxuriant  level  width  of  several 
miles,  to  Arezzo  in  the  southeast ;  and  we  rolled 
rapidly  through  its  wheat-fields  and  vineyards, 
by  its  pretty  villages  embosomed  in  copses  of 
elms  and  oaks.  Arezzo  lies  at  its  eastern  end,  just 
as  Florence  herself  lies  at  the  eastern  end  of  the 
middle  valley,  located  similarly  on  the  flat  land, 
but  climbing  from  it  onto  a  gentle  isolated  hill. 
She  was  Arretium  in  Etruscan  days,  —  one  of  the 
twelve  Etruscan  capitals  that  acquiesced  more 
readily  in  Roman  rule,  —  and  fought  on  the  side 
of  Rome  in  the  stormy  centuries  preceding  the 
Empire.  She  was  then,  when  all  industry  was 
hand-work,  distinguished  by  her  manufacture  of 
terra-cotta  vases,  glazed  and  decorated  with  re- 
liefs so  artistically  as  to  defy  competition,  and 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  329 

this  industry  was  afterwards  a  source  of  consider- 
able wealth  to  her  in  the  peaceful  commercial 
days  of  the  Empire.  The  Middle  Ages  brought 
her  sacking  and  distress,  as  they  did  to  all  plain 
towns  easy  of  capture.  Relieved  from  this  by 
the  Empire  of  Charlemagne,  and  becoming  on  its 
wane  an  independent  republic,  she  found  her  in- 
evitable domestic  tyrants  in  the  family  of  the  Tar- 
lati,  who  held  sway  until  the  conquering  Floren- 
tines appeared. 

The  railroad  station  lies  at  the  southwestern 
side  of  the  city,  just  outside  the  mediaeval  walls, 
which  once  enclosed  a  population  several  times 
the  present  one  of  twelve  thousand.  Conse- 
quently the  town  has  shrunk  back,  upwards  to 
the  east  upon  the  slope  of  the  hill,  culminating 
in  the  old  fortress  that  sits  on  the  highest  point, 
on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  on  the  further  side.  Two 
modern  streets,  however,  have  extended  them- 
selves into  the  plain  to  the  railroad  station,  —  the 
Corso  Vittorio  Emanuele  and  the  Via  Guido  Mo- 
naco ;  the  latter  named  after  Arezzo's  illustrious 
monk  who  invented  musical  notation.  And  it 
was  the  latter  avenue  that  I  followed,  entering 
the  town  on  foot,  stopping  to  see  the  statue  of 
Guido  in  the  round  piazza  into  which  it  opened 
halfway  up.  The  street  ended  in  the  Piazza 
Umberto  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  from  which  the 
thoroughfare  of  the  Via  Cavour  stretched  away 
to  north  and  south,  encircling  the  summit.  I 


830  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

found  these  streets  thoroughly  modern  in  appear- 
ance, with  goodly  stuccoed  houses  and  stores  sur- 
mounting their  wide  stone  pavements.  Arezzo  has 
thoroughly  accepted  modern  ideas,  being  on  the 
main  line  from  Florence  to  Rome,  and  having 
the  former  city  so  near  at  hand. 

In  the  Piazza  Umberto  is  the  principal  inn, 
and  beside  it  the  old  gothic  church  of  San  Fran- 
cesco, where  morning  service  was  going  on  at  a 
side-altar  as  I  entered.  The  interior  consists  of 
a  lofty  nave,  without  aisles  or  transepts,  having 
one  chapel,  opening  on  the  left,  and  a  slightly 
elevated  choir.  On  the  entrance  wall  I  saw  a 
fresco  representing  Christ  at  table  with  Mary 
Magdalen  by  Spinello  Aretino,  the  trecentist 
pupil  of  Giotto,  who  was  a  native  of  Arezzo.  It 
was  easy  to  see  Giotto's  influence  in  this  picture ; 
it  exhibited  his  lifelikeness  and  quiet,  natural 
action,  although  it  had  not  his  grace.  Threading 
the  crowd  of  kneeling  worshipers  amid  the 
monotonous  chant  of  the  priest,  I  made  my  way 
to  the  chapel  on  the  left,  which  Spinello  once 
decorated  with  frescoes,  but  found  them  too 
much  injured  to  be  intelligible.  Better  things 
were  in  the  choir,  adorned  on  both  walls  with 
a  great  series  of  scenes  from  the  legend  of  the 
Holy  Cross  by  Piero  della  Francesca,  the  early 
quattrocentist  master  of  Luca  Signorelli.  He  is 
the  principal  artist  to  be  studied  here,  as  at  his 
neighboring  native  town  of  Sansepolcro.  These 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  331 

frescoes  —  illustrating  such  scenes  as  the  search 
for  the  Cross  in  a  stream  by  St.  Helena,  the 
bringing  of  it  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  rescue  of  it 
from  Chosroes  the  Persian  by  the  Emperor  He- 
raclius  in  a  terrible  battle  —  portray  a  great  many 
figures  in  dramatic  action,  which,  for  the  period 
(1450),  is  remarkably  well  sustained.  But  the 
movement  shows  the  same  frenzy  of  energy  and 
lack  of  grace  that  we  find  in  most  of  Signorelli's 
works.  In  these  few  powerful  undraped  figures 
by  Piero,  we  also  see  where  Signorelli  got  his 
power  of  executing  the  nude. 

Leaving  the  church,  I  followed  the  Via  Cavour 
southwards  to  its  junction  with  the  Corso,  the 
view  down  which  towards  the  railroad  displayed 
an  animated  aspect.  People  were  busily  throng- 
ing up  and  down  between  its  high  stuccoed  walls, 
talking  vigorously,  carrying  merchandise,  and 
passing  in  and  out  of  the  little  shops.  Up  the 
Corso  there  loomed  another  huge  church,  with  a 
lofty  romanesque  tower;  and  ascending  to  it,  I 
saw  one  of  the  most  interesting  fagades  that  it 
has  ever  been  my  lot  to  find.  This  was  the  an- 
cient church  of  S.  Maria  della  Pieve,  built  a  thou- 
sand years  ago  upon  the  substructure  of  a  Roman 
temple.  Its  high  stone  fagade  contained  five  re- 
cessed arches  in  the  ground  story  —  three  with 
doorways  decorated  with  antique  reliefs;  and 
over  them  it  raised  three  extraordinary  tiers  of 
columns,  increasing  in  number  towards  the  top. 


332  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

The  columns  were  slender,  in  every  kind  of  de- 
sign and  cutting,  —  plain,  fluted,  spiral,  or  teem- 
ing with  patterns,  —  and  there  were  as  many  as 
twenty-four  of  them  in  the  second  tier  and  thirty- 
two  in  the  third.  The  effect  was  very  unusual,  — 
of  these  arcades  with  seemingly  infinite  parts 
towering  high  above  the  way,  here  narrow ;  and 
it  was  not  decreased  by  a  more  minute  examina- 
tion. Over  the  central  doorway  was  a  Madonna 
in  alto-relievo,  and  about  her  most  curious  an- 
cient figures  engaged  in  various  homely  acts,  — 
such  as  chopping  wood  and  reaping,  —  including 
a  two-headed  man  seated  on  a  stool. 

The  interior  was  fully  as  interesting.  Huge 
romanesque  columns,  with  capitals  of  distorted 
beasts  and  human  heads,  supported  the  lofty 
nave  and  separated  it  from  the  aisles.  There  were 
no  transepts,  and  the  aisles  kept  on  into  the  choir, 
which  was  considerably  elevated  and  carried  sev- 
eral more  of  the  quaint  columns  on  each  side. 
The  high  steps  to  the  choir  were  in  the  aisles, 
and  in  the  nave  broad  steps  swept  downwards 
to  the  spacious  crypt  beneath.  The  whole  effect 
was  one  of  great  antiquity,  massiveness,  and 
gloom,  feebly  illumined  by  the  apse  window,  and 
by  nine  little  windows  set  in  three  tiers  in  the 
entrance  wall  —  between  the  columns  of  the  fa- 
gade  —  that  sent  shafts  of  rose-colored  light 
filtering  through  the  dusk.  I  ascended  to  the 
choir,  whence  the  antiquity  of  the  building  was 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  333 

further  visible  in  looking  down  at  the  nave  and 
seeing  how  the  outer  walls  leaned  out  and  the 
columns  leaned  in.  The  building  has  been  so 
entirely  restored  as  to  have  been  practically  re- 
built—  so  said  the  old  sacristan,  jingling  his 
keys ;  but  the  renovations  did  not  intrude  them- 
selves. Looking  up,  I  saw  just  before  the  choir 
a  curious  old  wooden  dome,  quite  flat,  supported 
on  a  drum  with  many  columns  in  relief;  and 
these  columns  ran  also  along  the  upper  walls  of 
the  choir.  Back  of  the  high  altar  I  found  a 
triptych  by  Pietro  Lorenzetti,  whose  sad,  sweet- 
faced  Sienese  Madonna  seemed  like  an  old  friend. 
The  sacristan  showed  also  a  fresco  figure  on  a 
column,  which  he  declared  was  by  Giotto,  and 
which  was  evidently  executed  a  century  after 
Giotto  was  dead.  I  descended  to  the  crypt,  whose 
sixteen  columns  and  several  piers,  all  with  fan- 
tastic capitals,  dimly  illumined  by  a  sputtering 
candle,  were  reminiscent  of  the  extraordinary 
ancient  crypt  of  the  cathedral  of  Nepi. 

Walking  around  to  the  back  of  the  church,  I 
found  there  a  wide  piazza  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  fronted  by  ancient,  discolored,  plaster  dwel- 
lings on  the  south  and  west,  and  by  a  great 
colonnade  built  by  Vasari  on  the  east.  On  the 
north  the  church  backed  in  its  high  semi-circular 
apse,  adorned  by  a  row  of  columns  in  relief  and 
two  colonnades  above,  with  the  campanile  lifting 
far  aloft  its  square  crumbling  top,  pierced  with 


334  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

many  stories  of  round  arches.  Adjacent  to  the 
apse  rose  a  beautiful  secular  gothic  building 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Fraternita  della 
Misericordia,  having  three  deeply  recessed  and 
sculptured  arches  on  the  ground  story,  statuary 
in  niches  above  them,  and  an  exquisite  balcony 
with  open-work  parapet  running  across  the  fagade 
just  under  the  roof.  In  the  lowest  corner  of  the 
square,  by  the  church,  an  ancient  fountain  cast  up 
its  gurgling  water,  and  round  about  it  were  gath- 
ered a  dozen  vegetable  and  fruit  stalls,  at  which 
old  peasant  women  were  selling  their  produce. 
The  colors  of  their  bright  kerchiefs  and  glowing 
piles  of  cherries  added  gayety  to  the  scene,  and 
the  three  bells  of  the  clock  tower  on  the  roof  of 
the  Fraternita  chimed  out  the  hour. 

I  passed  on  under  Vasari's  colonnade,  returning 
to  the  Corso,  east  of  S.  Maria  della  Pieve,  upon 
whose  fine  old  romanesque  tower  I  could  look  at 
a  level.  On  the  Corso  here  was  the  Palazzo  Pub- 
blico,  uninteresting  save  for  its  many  armorial 
bearings  immured  in  the  fagade.  Just  beyond 
were  the  public  gardens,  lying  on  the  top  of  the 
hill  beside  the  ruined  fortress.  I  walked  about 
under  the  spreading  trees  with  a  sense  of  relief, 
—  for  it  was  undeniably  hot  in  the  June  sun,  — 
looking  out  over  the  roofs  of  Arezzo  sloping 
down  to  the  west,  and  over  the  fertile  plain  of 
the  Arno  on  the  east.  On  this  —  the  east  —  side, 
the  hill  suddenly  ended  in  a  cliff,  that  de- 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  335 

scended  to  the  level  of  the  plain,  where  fields  of 
wheat  and  vine  stretched  off  to  the  surrounding 
mountains.  I  could  see  the  entrance  to  the  upper 
defile  of  the  Arno  —  called  the  Casentino  —  on 
the  north ;  between  those  dark  walls  the  river 
came  plunging  southwards  from  its  source  in  the 
mountains  east  of  Florence  and  rolling  here  into 
the  upper  valley,  made  a  great  curve  to  the 
northwest,  hastening  on  to  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  Ponte  Vecchio  and  the  grandeur  of  the  quays 
of  Pisa.  Those  mountains  to  the  east  separated 
this  basin  from  the  upper  valley  of  the  Tiber, 
where  lay  Sansepolcro  and  Citta  di  Castello,  and 
it  would  be  necessary  for  me  to  traverse  them ; 
yet  they  looked  impossible  for  any  railroad,  so 
sheer  did  the  mighty  heights  rise  from  the  plain. 
To  the  south  of  the  little  park  sat  the  fortress, 
inaccessible ;  to  the  north  the  mediaeval  city  walls 
descended  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff  through 
gardens  that  once  were  streets,  enclosing  the  vast 
old  brick  church  of  San  Domenico ;  and  nearer 
the  town  on  this  side  rose  the  apse  and  campanile 
of  the  cathedral,  the  former  showing  three  vast 
lancet  windows  through  the  rich  foliage  of  the 
trees.  It  was  a  beautiful  spot  —  this  promenade 
—  and  many  old  soldiers,  wearing  the  blue  linen 
uniforms  indicative  of  a  Veteran's  home,  lounged 
about  in  the  checkered  shade  on  the  stone 
benches,  gazing  off  at  the  mountains  with  all  the 
pleasure  of  a  stranger. 


336  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  passed  out  by  the  apse  of  the  cathedral  —  a 
huge  bare  stone  edifice  —  and  along  its  western 
side  to  the  fagade,  which  was  covered  with  scaf- 
folding. They  were  at  work  facing  it,  according 
to  the  original  plans  of  six  hundred  years  ago. 
Entering  the  dim  interior,  I  was  at  once  struck 
with  that  sensation  of  soaring  lines,  lofty  magnifi- 
cence, and  religious  dusk,  which  a  good  gothic 
cathedral  alone  can  give.  Far  overhead  towered 
the  brown  clustered  pillars  of  the  nave,  lifting  a 
frescoed  groined  roof,  and  separating  the  aisles 
—  almost  as  lofty  and  similarly  groined — by 
graceful  pointed  arches  that  ran  on  to  the  choir. 
Over  a  beautiful  glistening  white  marble  high 
altar  rose  the  three  lancet  windows  of  the  apse, 
richly  glowing  with  a  hundred  hues  that  merged 
into  the  lustre  of  crimson.  Two  fine  pulpits  fur- 
ther decorated  the  nave,  encircling  opposite  pil- 
lars with  their  banisters  and  supporting  columns. 
In  spite  of  the  brown  austerity  of  the  stone,  the 
whole  effect  was  thus  one  of  splendor  —  splendor 
not  bright  but  softly  glowing,  from  the  hundred 
frescoes  on  the  vaulting,  the  sculptured  marble 
of  altar,  pulpits,  and  tombs  in  the  aisles,  and  the 
rose  light  that  fell  over  all  from  the  lofty  windows 
of  the  choir. 

I  found  the  high  altar  worthy  of  close  inspec- 
tion. It  was  executed  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  by  two  comparatively  un- 
known artists  of  the  Florentine  school,  and  the 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  337 

sculptured  figures  are  rather  stiff  and  crude  j  but 
there  is  much  grace  in  the  slender  columns  upon 
which  it  is  supported,  and  an  exceeding  richness 
in  the  tout  ensemble.  Of  the  tombs  the  notice- 
able one  is  in  the  left  aisle,  that  of  Bishop  Guido 
Tarlati,  ruler  of  the  city  about  1325,  a  warrior 
prelate  who  fought  many  battles ;  under  his  high 
sarcophagus,  between  the  thin  spiral  columns 
supporting  it,  are  sixteen  reliefs  portraying  scenes 
from  his  life.  Opening  from  this  aisle  is  a  large 
chapel,  rich  to  gaudiness,  but  containing  five 
treasures  in  the  shape  of  reliefs  by  Andrea  della 
Robbia.  Of  these  one  is  especially  beautiful,  a 
Madonna  in  the  oval  ring  of  cherub's  heads,  sur- 
rounded by  four  graceful  angels.  It  is  an  ideal 
for  the  terra-cotta  work,  making  up  for  the  color 
that  a  painting  has  by  the  superior  modeling  of 
the  figures. 

From  the  Duomo  a  street  leads  down  the  hill 
northwestwards,  past  the  Via  Cavour,  to  the 
museum  on  the  street  beyond  it.  In  the  museum 
I  found  a  good  many  broken  specimens  of  the 
famous  Arretian  ware  of  Roman  days,  —  the 
glazed  terra-cotta  vases  decorated  with  reliefs, 
—  and  the  beauty  of  them  was  simply  amazing. 
I  had  never  suspected  that  any  artist  of  Roman 
times  possessed  such  wonderful  power  of  grace, 
composition,  and  lifelike  execution ;  here  were 
reliefs  of  dancing-girls,  nymphs,  Apollos,  and 
warriors  worthy  of  the  best  skill  of  Greece.  The 


338  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

beauty  of  the  nude  or  scantily  clothed  figures 
must  have  been  even  greater  when  seen  upon  the 
vase  as  a  whole,  and  not  requiring  to  be  picked 
out  from  fragments.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Arezzo 
became  famous  for  her  terra-cotta  work  and 
amassed  riches  from  it. 

In  the  same  building  is  the  art  collection, 
chiefly  noticeable  for  the  remarkable  early  Ma- 
donna of  Margaritone,  the  artist  of  Arezzo  who 
was  a  precursor  of  Cimabue.  This  Madonna,  al- 
though executed  about  1240,  displays  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Renaissance  in  the  lack  of  gorgeous 
trappings,  in  the  simplicity  of  dress  and  demeanor, 
in  the  portrayal  of  maternity  and  sweetness ;  her 
face  is  not  very  Byzantine,  and  is  almost  as  well 
executed  as  those  of  Cimabue  fifty  years  later. 
Close  at  hand,  in  the  same  street  as  the  museum, 
is  the  church  of  Sant'  Annunziata,  a  handsome 
renaissance  edifice  constructed  by  Sangallo.  I 
proceeded  to  it,  after  waiting  for  a  religious  pro- 
cession to  pass  by,  —  with  priests,  banners,  and 
clumsily  marching  laymen,  —  and  found  the  in- 
terior truly  beautiful.  It  is  all  in  soft  gray  stone, 
with  pleasing  harmonious  lines;  an  ante-hall 
precedes  the  nave  proper,  having  columns  at  the 
sides  upholding  a  simple  entablature ;  and  in 
the  nave  itself  round  arches  divide  off  the  aisles 
and  lift  far  above  a  graceful  dome.  This  is  one 
of  the  very  few  renaissance  churches  that  are  not 
rococo,  display  a  genuine  classical  spirit,  and  are 
really  symmetrical. 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  339 

I  returned  by  the  Via  Cavour  to  the  Piazza 
Umberto,  took  lunch  in  one  of  the  better-class 
inns  that  front  upon  it,  and  about  four  o'clock 
repaired  to  the  station  for  the  continuance  of  my 
journey  to  Sansepolcro.  I  found  the  line  thither 
to  be  of  narrow  gauge,  and  the  cars  to  be 
little  open  vehicles  with  aisles  down  the  centre  in 
American  fashion,  and  hard  wooden  seats  that 
added  to  the  discomfort  of  the  jerky  motion. 
The  engine  looked  like  a  toy,  and  it  is  still  a 
wonder  to  me  how  it  ever  pulled  us  over  the 
mountains.  We  headed  at  once  for  them,  and 
ascended  a  ravine  to  the  southeast  of  Arezzo, 
climbing  at  a  stiff  grade  along  its  sides  for  sev- 
eral miles.  Then  we  crossed  its  head,  tunneled  a 
mountain  northwards,  stepped  over  another  ravine 
beyond  by  a  high  trestle,  and  returned  westwards 
towards  the  plain  upon  the  further  side  of  this 
second  ravine,  still  climbing.  Thus  do  the  Ital- 
ian engineers  surmount  difficulties.  I  could  see 
Arezzo  directly  below  us  now,  topping  its  little  hill 
in  the  flat  valley,  with  ruined  fortress  and  park 
at  the  summit ;  yet  already  we  were  at  a  height 
of  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  it.  Southwards  the 
Val  di  Chiana  was  now  perfectly  visible,  stretch- 
ing richly  green  between  mountain  walls  on  to 
Cortona  and  Montepulciano  ;  it  is  drained  to-day 
into  the  Arno  here  near  Arezzo  by  an  artificial 
channel.  Soon  we  left  this  ravine  and  crossed  the 
hill-tops  northwards  to  a  third  one,  along  whose 


340  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

southern  side  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  di- 
vide. Twenty-two  tunnels  in  all  were  traversed 
before  we  reached  the  summit,  and  this  was 
pierced  by  another,  the  longest  of  all.  Once  on 
the  other  side  the  descent  became  rapid.  We 
rolled  downwards  beside  a  pretty  brook,  that 
soon  led  us  from  the  barrenness  of  the  moun- 
tain-tops to  a  dense  luxuriance  of  foliage. 
From  the  neighboring  crags  mediaeval  hamlets 
and  ruined  castles  looked  down  as  we  neared 
the  valley  of  the  Tiber ;  and  one  fair-sized  town 
was  passed,  perched  upon  a  precipitous  rock, 
peering  with  several  towers  over  heavy  battle- 
ments. Close  beyond  it  we  rolled  into  the  level 
of  the  valley,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  ex- 
tensiveness  of  this  upper  plain  of  the  Tiber,  so 
near  to  its  source,  ensconced  so  high  in  the 
mountains ;  it  stretched  away  to  the  south  for 
apparently  an  indefinite  distance,  with  a  width  of 
four  or  five  miles  between  the  surrounding  slopes. 
It  glistened  richly  with  cereal  and  vine,  and  on 
its  eastern  bank  gleamed  amidst  olive  groves  the 
white  walls  of  Sansepolcro  in  the  setting  sun. 
Far  above  that  city  rose  to  heaven  the  lofty  ser- 
rated peaks  of  the  central  ridge  of  the  Apennines, 
with  Monte  Maggio,  largest  of  all,  lifting  into 
the  blue  sky  its  five  thousand  feet  of  pyramidal 
rock.  And  this  vast  mass  glowed  softly  roseate  as 
the  sun  sank  behind  the  western  summits,  throw- 
ing the  valley  into  velvet  shadow.  Through  this 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  341 

shadow  we  speeded  to  Sansepolcro,  looking  up- 
wards at  the  beautiful  afterglow  of  Monte  Maggio, 
showering  rose  and  golden  hues  through  the  dusk. 
The  station  was  at  some  distance  from  the 
walls,  and  no  vettura  was  at  hand ;  but  I  found 
a  boy  who  hoisted  my  heavy  bag  to  his  shoulder, 
and  staggering  under  its  weight,  piloted  me  up 
the  tree-lined  avenue  to  the  northern  gate,  and 
along  the  main  street  within  to  the  albergo.  I 
passed  the  night  as  comfortably  as  its  primitive 
accommodations  would  allow,  and  set  out  early  in 
the  morning  to  examine  the  town.  All  of  San- 
sepolcro is  primitive  —  from  the  mediaeval  brick 
battlements  and  moat  to  the  narrow  roughly 
paved  streets  with  their  crumbling  stuccoed 
houses.  It  has  the  air  of  the  Middle  Ages,  un- 
swept  by  the  breath  of  modern  improvements; 
and  it  has  the  aspect  of  poverty,  in  spite  of 
the  rich  valley  that  lies  around.  The  streets  are 
fairly  rectangular,  lying  as  they  do  upon  the  plain, 
and  but  few  buildings  of  distinction  rise  from  the 
mass  of  brown  roofs  that  extend  to  the  slope  of 
the  mountain.  From  the  northern  gate,  where  I 
entered,  the  main  street  extends  for  nearly  a  mile 
to  the  southern  gate.  I  passed  along  it  to  the 
Piazza  in  the  centre,  stopping  to  observe  en  route 
an  extraordinary  mediaeval  frieze  over  one  of  the 
shops ;  it  was  a  bas-relief  in  Romanesque  style, 
of  uncouth  beasts,  dragons,  and  knights  on  horse- 
back, with  a  genuine  spread-eagle  in  the  middle ; 


342  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

a  relic  of  the  days  when  Sansepolcro  was  a  self- 
satisfied  little  republic  and  this  was  the  home  of 
one  of  its  nobility. 

The  Piazza  groups  round  an  isolated  campa- 
nile, the  centre  and  the  loftiest  building  of  the 
town.  It  was  constructed  of  cut  stone,  centuries 
ago,  by  the  citizens  at  the  height  of  their  pride, 
as  an  ornament  and  bell-tower  for  the  city.  Its 
ornamental  qualities  are  now  impaired  by  the 
crumbling  away  of  the  stones  and  mortar  from 
the  corners  aloft,  leaving  jagged  lines  against  the 
sky;  but  the  bells  still  ring  out  on  every  pos- 
sible occasion.  On  the  south  side  of  the  Piazza 
rises  a  rather  handsome  old  palace  with  well-pro- 
portioned window-frames  of  rusticated  stone  set 
in  the  plaster  f  agade ;  it  is  the  best  looking  build- 
ing in  Sansepolcro.  On  the  north  extends  a  line 
of  shops,  in  the  ground  floors  of  edifices  that 
once  were  noble  dwellings,  as  is  indicated  by  the 
remnants  of  mediaeval  towers  that  they  raise  here 
and  there.  To  the  east  is  a  narrower  extension 
of  the  Piazza,  more  picturesque  than  the  wide 
space,  with  the  little  Municipio  on  the  left,  ap- 
proached by  a  flight  of  steps,  and  the  plain  cathe- 
dral on  the  right.  Beyond  the  cathedral  rolls 
the  renaissance  arcade  of  the  Palazzo  del  Marini, 
now  used  as  the  law  courts.  A  wall  here  ends 
the  Piazza,  having  an  archway  through  which  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  house  in  the  street 
beyond,  with  a  pretty  loggia  on  the  first  floor. 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  343 

I  entered  the  Municipio,  and  was  admitted  by 
the  ancient  custodian  to  its  small  art  collection. 
Here  I  hoped  to  find  some  good  specimens  of  the 
work  of  Piero  della  Francesca,  for  Sansepolcro 
was  the  birthplace  and  home  of  Signorelli's  mas- 
ter. There  were  a  number  of  his  works  in  the 
collection,  but  I  was  disappointed  in  their  excel- 
lence. The  best  was  a  fresco  of  the  Resurrection, 
portraying  Jesus  rising  from  the  tomb  with  four 
Roman  soldiers  lying  about  asleep ;  but  the  atti- 
tudes were  stiff,  and  the  composition  so  poor  that 
one  of  the  myrmidons  was  actually  reclining  in 
the  air.  I  saw  also  some  uninteresting  specimens 
of  Raffaelo  del  Colle,  the  pupil  of  the  great 
Raphael,  showing  occasionally  considerable  exec- 
utive ability,  but  absolutely  without  the  stamp  of 
genius.  I  know  no  other  artist  whose  work  shows 
so  clearly  the  difference  between  genius  and  the 
lack  of  it ;  for  he  had  the  power  of  drawing, 
color,  and  action,  yet  the  divine  spark  was  want- 
ing to  tell  him  how  to  begin  and  where  to  stop. 

I  crossed  over  to  the  cathedral,  with  its  dull 
stone  fagade,  unornamented  save  for  an  old 
romanesque  recessed  portal,  and  found  the  in- 
terior rather  picturesque  from  a  similar  crudity. 
It  had  a  nave  and  aisles  without  transepts,  and 
large  columns  with  romanesque  capitals  of  leaves 
and  scrolls.  In  the  choir  I  found  the  best  thing 
in  Sansepolcro,  an  Assumption  by  Perugino.  It 
was  distinguished  by  all  his  usual  depth  and  grace 


344  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  composition  and  expression,  in  spite  of  being 
so  full  of  figures  as  to  seem  overcrowded.  There 
were  five  or  six  apostles  on  each  side  below,  and 
Christ  with  four  angels  above,  almost  shutting 
out  any  view  of  the  golden  background;  but 
one  forgets  the  overcrowding  in  contemplating 
any  one  of  the  rapt  heavenly  faces.  Across  the 
choir  is  a  Resurrection  by  Colle,  representing 
Christ  bounding  out  of  the  tomb  with  a  white 
banner  in  his  hand;  and  the  fact  that  Colle  did 
not  know  where  to  stop  is  forcibly  demonstrated 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  sleeping  soldiers  are 
thrown  sprawling  in  all  directions.  In  spite  of 
the  subject,  I  could  not  help  laughing. 

After  this  I  spent  some  time  in  strolling  about 
the  town,  following  the  main  street  to  the  south- 
ern gate,  and  searching  eastwards  amongst  the 
side  streets,  narrow  and  dirty,  till  I  brought  up 
against  a  little  park  on  the  first  rise  of  the  moun- 
tain side,  decorated  with  an  excellent  marble 
statue  of  Piero  della  Francesca.  Near  the  park, 
in  the  private  palace  of  the  Collachioni,  is  his 
reputed  chef  d'ceuvre,  —  the  Infant  Hercules.  A 
worthy  citizen  conducted  me  to  the  palace,  — 
which  had  an  exterior  as  ugly  and  dull  as  any 
other,  —  and  a  pompous  portiere  admitted  me, 
in  the  absence  of  the  family.  The  interior  was  as 
rich  and  elaborate  as  the  outside  was  plain,  which 
is  typical  of  Italian  houses  generally.  There  was 
a  handsome  lower  hall,  with  suites  of  living* 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  345 

rooms,  parlors,  and  billiard  room  opening  off  to 
right  and  left ;  and  at  the  end  was  a  curving 
stone  stairway  that  led  to  a  smaller  hall  on  the 
first  floor,  adorned  with  arms  and  armor.  From 
this  opened  a  spacious  salon  of  seventeenth  cen- 
tury style,  with  frescoed  ceiling  and  tables  of 
precious  marble,  and  here  upon  the  end  wall  was 
Piero's  painting  of  the  Infant  Hercules,  —  a 
sturdy,  bare-limbed  child,  aglow  with  vigorous 
strength,  a  true  precursor  of  Luca  Signorelli's 
athletes  in  his  Last  Judgment  at  Orvieto.  I 
learned  from  the  portiere  that  the  Collachioni — 
resident  mostly  at  Rome  —  came  to  this  one  of 
their  country  homes  but  one  week  in  the  year, 
and  that  was  usually  as  a  stop-over  on  the  way 
to  or  from  Florence.  Nevertheless  the  house  had 
to  be  constantly  kept  in  perfect  readiness  to  re- 
ceive them  in  case  of  a  sudden  visit.  I  do  not 
blame  the  Collachioni  for  spending  only  one  week 
a  year  in  this  splendid  villa ;  that  is  a  long  time 
in  Borgo  Sansepolcro. 

Having  now  visited  all  but  the  western  quar- 
ter of  the  town,  I  proceeded  thither,  and  roamed 
about  its  streets,  picturesque  here  and  there 
with  an  old  church  fayade  or  loggia.  The  west- 
ern gate  was  but  a  simple  round  archway  in  the 
brick  town  wall,  with  a  stone  bridge  beyond 
spanning  the  moat,  whence  the  road  ran  off  across 
the  luxuriant  plain  between  elm  trees  laden  with 
garlands  of  vine.  On  the  parapet  of  the  bridge 


346  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

sat  an  old  man,  sunning  himself  in  the  noonday 
blaze,  gazing  sleepily  down  at  the  dry  bed  of  the 
ancient  fosse ;  and  along  came  strenuous  woman- 
hood —  which  does  more  work  in  Italy  than  the 
men  —  in  the  shape  of  a  peasant  woman  carrying 
on  her  head  a  load  of  hay  so  huge  as  almost  to 
obscure  the  means  of  its  propulsion.  This  is  a 
very  frequent  sight ;  for  so  does  feminine  labor 
feed  the  donkeys  that  the  lords  and  masters  drive. 
Soon  after  I  returned  to  the  inn,  and  after  a  hur- 
ried lunch  took  the  train  for  Citta  di  Castello. 

The  narrow  gauge  railroad  carried  me  ten  miles 
down  the  valley,  at  no  faster  a  pace  than  that 
with  which  we  had  yesterday  climbed  the  moun- 
tains, and  which  a  nimble  horse  could  easily 
equal.  The  Tiber  accompanied  us,  in  gentle  me- 
anderings  beneath  great  willow  trees  and  oaks ; 
it  was  here  but  a  brook  some  twenty  feet  in 
width,  not  yet  impregnated  with  its  distinctive 
muddy  color.  We  passed  frequent  villages, — 
one  having  an  old  fortified  monastery  of  unusual 
picturesqueness,  —  and  after  crossing  the  Tiber, 
stopped  at  the  station  of  Citt&  di  Castello  outside 
its  eastern  gate.  I  perceived  that  the  town  lay 
on  the  west  side  of  the  valley,  instead  of  on  the 
east,  like  Sansepolcro.  Its  huge  brick  battlements 
rose  sheer  from  the  level  of  the  plain,  with  but  a 
trace  here  and  there  of  the  ancient  moat,  that 
had  mostly  been  filled  up.  Over  the  wall  to  the 
right  of  the  gate  soared  the  extensive  pile  of  one 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  347 

of  the  palaces  of  the  Vitelli,  the  mediaeval  tyrants 
of  the  city  ;  and  adjacent  to  it  was  a  garden  with 
a  copse  of  beautiful  trees  growing  on  the  top  of  a 
bastion  in  the  wall. 

It  was  to  another  of  the  palaces  of  the  Vitelli, 
now  used  as  an  inn,  that  I  betook  myself  with 
my  luggage ;  I  found  it  at  the  southern  angle 
of  the  town,  a  rambling,  disconnected  structure, 
quite  ruined  save  for  the  part  now  inhabited. 
Once  it  was  a  gorgeous  renaissance  court,  with 
the  resounding  name  of  the  Palazzo  della  Can- 
noniera,  bedecked  with  all  the  ornament  that 
the  art  of  the  Renaissance  could  devise.  They 
were  not  bad  tyrants,  these  Vitelli ;  they  spent 
the  money  of  the  citizens  in  building,  which  is 
far  preferable  to  making  war.  Citta  di  Castello 
owes  more  fame  to-day  to  their  brief  lordship 
in  the  fifteenth  century  than  to  her  historic  im- 
portance in  Roman  times,  —  when  she  was  a 
proud  and  wealthy  municipium  under  the  name 
of  Tifernum  Tiberinum,  enjoying  all  the  trade 
of  this  rich  upper  valley  of  the  Tiber,  and  of  so 
much  account  that  Totila  the  Goth  turned  out 
of  his  way  to  sack  and  destroy  her.  The  popu- 
lation then,  as  in  subsequent  renaissance  days, 
must  have  been  several  times  as  large  as  the  pre- 
sent one  of  five  thousand.  The  city  was  merged 
in  the  States  of  the  Church  after  the  end  of  the 
power  of  the  Vitelli,  and  has  declined  ever  since. 
On  walking  about  it  that  afternoon,  I  found  it  to 


348  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

be  quite  in  the  shape  of  a  coffin,  lying  with  its 
head  to  the  north,  a  half  mile  distant  from  the 
hills  on  the  west  of  the  valley ;  and  a  coffin  is 
also  suggestive  of  its  absence  of  life.  Only  a 
very  few  people  were  crawling  lazily  about  its 
ancient  sun-baked  streets,  with  their  remains 
of  mediaeval  grandeur.  The  white  stuccoed 
facades,  interspersed  with  an  occasional  front 
of  stone,  were  in  fairly  good  preservation,  but 
it  seemed  like  a  city  of  the  dead.  The  long 
straight  line  of  the  main  thoroughfare,  —  the 
Corso,  —  running  from  the  southern  gate  to  the 
northern,  was  deserted ;  in  the  cross  thorough- 
fare, running  from  the  eastern  gate  at  the  rail- 
road station  to  the  lofty  bastion  at  the  western 
angle,  there  was  more  shade,  and  here  a  few  in- 
animate beings  sat  drinking  coffee  at  several 
cafes. 

The  central  Piazza  lies,  naturally,  at  the  junc- 
tion of  these  ways ;  and  here  is  the  arcaded  Pre- 
fecture and  a  third  palace  of  the  Vitelli,  now  used 
as  a  barrack.  I  returned  to  the  eastern  gate  to 
inspect  the  largest  of  these  palaces,  which  I  had 
noticed  on  my  arrival.  There  was  a  little  piazza 
before  its  white  plastered  facade,  inset  with  stone- 
framed  windows  and  doorways,  imposing  only 
from  the  proportions  of  the  mass  and  the  nicety 
of  the  spacing  of  the  openings;  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  Piazza  rose  the  ever-present  Gari- 
baldi in  marble.  This  palace  is  still  in  the  pos- 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  349 

session  of  a  private  family,  which,  of  course,  lives 
at  Rome  and  visits  it  but  seldom  j  but  it  accounts 
for  its  being  kept  in  royal  condition.  Hoping  to 
be  admitted,  I  rang  the  bell  at  the  porter's  door, 
but  received  no  answer.  Then  a  bystander  who 
had  appeared  conducted  me  by  a  long  route 
through  a  lane  where  an  old  couple  were  making 
rope  to  the  grounds  at  the  rear ;  there,  in  a  field 
behind  the  garden  proper,  some  men  were  hay- 
ing. The  limits  of  the  garden  were  marked  by  a 
graceful  stone  colonnade,  and  advancing  through 
its  arches  I  saw  the  back  fagade  of  the  palace 
across  a  beautiful  stretch  of  lawn,  cut  with  graveled 
paths,  set  with  countless  orange  and  lemon  trees 
in  vases,  and  ornamented  in  the  centre  with  a  wide 
splashing  fountain.  It  was  a  picture  ideally  Ital- 
ian. A  colonnade  in  the  ground  floor  of  the  old 
palace  added  to  its  grace,  and  on  the  left  rose  the 
thicket  of  lofty  elms  and  ilexes  upon  the  bastion 
of  the  city  wall.  Through  these  curving  walks 
and  fragrant  shrubs  once  strolled  the  courtiers 
of  the  lords  of  the  city,  resplendent  with  laces, 
silks,  and  satins,  discussing  the  new-found  beliefs 
of  Humanism  and  the  latest  canvas  of  Perugino. 
One  of  a  number  of  women  who  were  drying 
clothes  upon  the  bushes  turned  out  to  be  the 
wife  of  the  care-taker,  and  informed  me  that  the 
palace  could  not  be  entered;  but  she  enjoined 
her  small  son  to  conduct  me  to  the  "  Palazzino." 
This  he  did  by  leading  the  way  along  the  top 


350  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

of  the  adjacent  city  wall  to  another  bastion  some 
distance  to  the  north,  upon  which  I  found  a 
thicket  of  shrubbery  with  a  charming  summer- 
house  hidden  behind  it.  Its  airy  loggia  was  com- 
pletely frescoed  with  mythological  subjects  in  a 
happy  manner,  of  which  enough  had  been  spared 
by  the  assaults  of  time  to  show  the  original  rich 
glow  of  coloring.  It  was  thoroughly  consonant 
with  the  gay  spirits  of  the  people  who  built  and 
made  use  of  it. 

I  returned  to  the  central  Piazza,  after  some 
wandering  through  the  narrower,  darker  ways  of 
the  northern  section  of  the  town,  and  then  fol- 
lowed westward  the  main  cross-street;  it  soon 
opened  into  another  piazza,  with  the  Palazzo 
Communale  upon  the  south  side,  and  the  little 
park  of  the  city  terminating  it  upon  the  west. 
The  Palazzo  Communale,  or  Municipio,  is  a  de- 
lightful little  building  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
of  general  renaissance  characteristics  in  form  and 
rustica  work,  but  with  gothic  windows  and  door- 
ways. In  the  hall  I  found  a  fine  ponderous 
gothic  stone  stairway,  curving  upwards  about  a 
huge  column.  On  inquiring  of  a  gorgeous  offi- 
cial, I  learned  that  the  municipal  art  collection 
which  used  to  be  kept  there  had  been  transferred 
to  another  building  some  distance  to  the  north ; 
and  thither  a  little  boy  conducted  me,  who  re- 
vealed the  freedom  of  Citta  di  Castello  from 
visitors  by  refusing  to  accept  a  fee.  The  art 


a 
a 

o- 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCRO  351 

collection  did  not  amount  to  much  save  for  some 
examples  of  Signorelli,  and  a  church  banner  by 
Raphael,  on  whose  linen  he  had  painted  a  Trinity 
on  one  side  and  a  Creation  on  the  other.  These 
were  distinguished  by  his  usual  great  power  and 
grace,  in  spite  of  much  fading  and  defacement. 
They  were  all  that  Citt&  di  Castello  has  left  of 
the  many  works  with  which  Raphael  once  adorned 
it  in  his  early  days  at  Perugia ;  the  others  have 
been  carried  off  by  conquerors,  or  sold,  or  dis- 
appeared without  trace. 

Returning  to  the  Palazzo  Communale,  I  found 
the  cathedral  near-by,  fronting  westwards  upon 
the  park.  The  original  church  upon  this  site 
was  founded  in  1012,  but  all  that  remains  of  it 
is  the  unusual  round  campanile,  pierced  with 
several  tiers  of  windows  at  the  top,  and  the  quaint 
romanesque  side  portal  on  the  north.  The  pre- 
sent church  was  erected  about  1500,  in  renais- 
sance style,  and  its  facade,  finished  through  the 
first  story  only,  is  in  the  usual  rococo.  I  climbed 
the  high  sweeping  flight  of  steps  to  the  doorway, 
and  searched  through  the  lofty  gilded  interior 
in  vain  for  some  work  of  merit.  There  were  a 
nave  and  transepts  without  aisles,  but  with  many 
side  chapels  having  elaborate  altars  and  modern 
paintings ;  and  there  was  a  large  choir,  in  which 
the  chapter  of  the  cathedral  was  intoning  after- 
noon service  with  many  breaks  and  baitings. 


352  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

After  a  dinner  at  the  remains  of  the  Palazzo 
della  Cannoniera,  I  watched  the  sun  set  behind 
the  hills  from  the  little  park  on  the  western  ram- 
parts. On  this  knoll,  the  highest  part  of  the  town, 
once  stood  the  castle  or  fortress  from  which  it 
derives  its  name.  The  razing  of  that  fear-inspir- 
ing citadel  gave  place,  as  in  the  case  of  so  many 
cities,  to  shady  walks  and  flower-beds ;  and  on  its 
great  bastion  at  the  western  angle  of  the  city 
wall,  raised  sixty  feet  from  the  plain  below,  where 
pontifical  soldiers  once  kept  watch  and  guard 
over  city  and  valley  from  grim  battlemented 
towers,  the  free  citizens  of  United  Italy  now  loll 
beneath  umbrageous  ilexes.  Here  I  saw  the  sun 
sink  to  the  crest  of  the  mountain  that  raised 
its  steep  verdurous  slope  but  half  a  mile  away, 
covered  with  olive  orchards  and  clumps  of  oaks 
embosoming  picturesque  white  villas.  The  peace 
of  a  summer  evening  descended  on  the  scene, 
and  the  lowing  of  a  cow  from  some  distant  farm- 
yard but  accentuated  it.  I  watched  the  sun-line 
rise  upon  the  long,  high,  brick  wall  of  the  city 
stretching  northwards,  till  it  reached  the  battle- 
ments, and  leaped  from  them  to  the  white  facades 
of  houses  and  churches  within.  Up  these  it 
swiftly  crept  to  the  bronze-tiled  roofs  that  peered 
over  the  valley,  and  forsook  them  for  the  few 
campaniles  that  soared  above  the  mass,  whose 
tops  glowed  rosily  for  an  instant  while  all  the  town 


AREZZO  AND  SANSEPOLCKO  353 

below  was  wrapt  in  shadow.  Then  with  a  last 
flash  the  golden  light  took  flight  into  the  air  and 
perched  upon  the  lofty  peaks  of  the  mountains  to 
the  east.  Wonderfully  they  gleamed  from  every 
rocky  spur  and  pinnacle  in  hues  of  gold  and  pink 
and  crimson,  over  the  deep  shadows  of  the  his- 
toric valley  of  the  Tiber,  —  just  as  they  had  done 
for  so  many  thousand  years.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  in  those  shades  of  the  rolling  plain  I 
could  see  the  bonfires  of  the  legions  of  Rome  be- 
gin to  glitter,  reflecting  from  corselet,  shield,  and 
morion ;  but  they  were  but  the  house  lights  of 
some  modern  peaceful  contadini. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
GUBBIO,    FABRIANO,   AND    URBINO 

EARLY  the  next  morning  I  took  a  train  to  con- 
tinue southwards  down  the  valley  as  far  as  Umber- 
tide,  and  mount  thence  to  the  east  to  the  table- 
land of  Gubbio.  As  we  rolled  on  through  the 
never  ending  fields  of  wheat  and  vine,  —  looking 
more  like  orchards  from  the  richly  leaved  elms 
supporting  the  avenues  of  garlands  of  budding 
grapes,  —  the  Tiber's  course  was  always  in  sight 
to  the  left,  marked  by  a  double  row  of  lofty  wil- 
lows and  oaks.  This  majestic  avenue  meandered 
gracefully  from  side  to  side  of  the  valley,  and 
occasionally  we  approached  it  closely  enough  to 
skirt  the  bank,  disclosing  the  stream  twenty  feet 
below  the  protecting  boughs,  already  growing 
muddy  from  the  garnered  soil  of  the  plain.  We 
passed  frequent  homely  villages  on  the  level, 
modern  ones,  scattered  about  unpaved  streets 
with  no  enclosing  walls;  more  ancient  towns 
were  visible  upon  the  heights  here  and  there,  — 
clumps  of  brown-tiled  roofs  looking  over  broken 
battlements.  Now  and  then  a  pilgrimage  church 
or  mediaeval  castle  lifted  its  gray  tower  upon 


GUBBIO,   FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO  355 

some  mountain  crag.  After  traversing  about  four- 
teen miles  we  crossed  the  Tiber  and  rolled  into 
Umbertide,  which  proved  to  be  quite  a  town,  with 
a  considerable  extent  of  good-looking  modern 
buildings;  it  is  the  metropolis  and  distributing 
point  of  the  lower  end  of  this  fertile  valley.  Be- 
yond it  the  Tiber  flows  into  a  narrower  defile 
that  it  has  cut  southwards  through  the  moun- 
tains, and  continues  in  it  for  eighteen  miles,  till  it 
emerges  upon  the  plain  of  Umbria.  Beside  that 
point  of  emersion  rises  the  hill  of  Perugia  ;  and 
the  realization  that  I  was  once  more  so  near  that 
most  wonderful  of  all  Italian  hill  towns  made  me 
long  to  get  out  and  take  horse  for  it.  Beautiful 
Perugia  !  I  recalled  the  day  when  I  stood  upon 
her  lofty  northern  ramparts  above  the  mighty 
gate  of  Augustus,  gazing  out  at  the  jagged  sum- 
mits of  the  main  ridge  of  the  Apennines,  and 
thinking  that  in  the  valley  below  them  lay  Sanse- 
polcro  and  Citta  di  Castello,  which  I  hoped  some 
day  to  visit.  Here  I  was  now  in  that  valley,  and 
would  give  a  good  deal  to  be  back  on  those  ram- 
parts. 

At  Umbertide  there  flows  into  the  Tiber  from 
the  east  a  little  stream  that  brings  the  waters  of 
the  table-land  of  Gubbio;  and  through  the  ravine 
that  it  has  worn  in  the  intervening  mountains  the 
train  now  proceeded  to  climb.  I  saw  upon  a  hill- 
top to  the  left  the  castle  for  which  Umbertide  is 
renowned,  a  massive  quadrangular  structure,  with 


356  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

lofty  dark  walls  of  heavy  stones  and  huge  round 
towers  at  the  angles,  apparently  in  a  very  good 
state  of  preservation.  As  the  glen  narrowed,  an- 
other castle  fully  as  picturesque,  and  more  ruin- 
ous, reared  its  broken  keep  and  crumbling  en- 
ceinte upon  a  precipitous  grassy  mount  to  the 
right,  looking  directly  down  upon  the  sweeping 
willows  and  splashing  water  of  the  stream.  Fur- 
ther up  the  ravine,  as  the  train  crawled  through 
its  tortuous  windings  with  a  tunnel  here  and  there, 
we  lost  sight  of  such  evidences  of  mediaeval  civili- 
zation, and  had  but  a  trace  of  modern,  —  in  the 
shape  of  an  occasional  farmhouse  in  some  level 
covert.  And  as  we  mounted  ever  higher  with 
laborious  puffings,  ascending  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  bare  peaks  that  loomed  above  us,  it  seemed 
as  if  we  must  be  leaving  far  behind  not  only  man 
but  even  vegetation. 

It  is  a  revelation,  then,  that  awaits  the  traveler 
at  the  end  of  this  rocky  defile,  —  a  vision  like  that 
of  the  promised  land  after  the  journey  across  the 
desert ;  as  one  fancies  that  he  must  be  at  last  near 
the  bald  summits  of  the  central  Apennines,  with 
the  world  of  life  left  far  below,  the  train  sud- 
denly emerges  from  the  glen  on  a  wide-stretching 
fertile  plain  glistening  with  luxuriant  verdure, 
rich  with  fields  of  grain  and  vine.  Still  beyond  it 
rise  the  loftiest  peaks,  mounting  from  its  village- 
dotted  landscape  in  sheer  walls,  whose  lower 
flanks  are  green  with  olives  and  whose  upper 


GUBBTO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          357 

soar  into  barren  cones  and  crags  amidst  the  clouds. 
So  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  strange  lofty  pla- 
teau of  Gubbio,  nestled  here  with  its  fertility  and 
life  between  the  summits  of  the  highest  moun- 
tains, and  Gubbio  itself  gleaming  white  upon 
the  encompassing  wall  to  the  southeast,  looking 
with  proud  palaces  and  towers  over  the  land  that 
it  has  always  called  its  own. 

When  we  had  crossed  the  plain  and  come 
nearer  to  the  city,  it  appeared  from  the  car  window 
like  one  of  those  weird  phantasms  of  oriental  im- 
agination, —  like  an  extensive  town  built  grandly 
upon  a  level  and  then  picked  up  bodily  and 
plastered  against  a  perpendicular  mountain  side. 
When  I  dismounted  at  the  station,  which  is  out 
upon  the  plain  distant  some  way  from  the  city,  a 
still  nearer  view  was  obtained  that  was  not  too 
close  to  want  a  full  comprehension ;  then  I  realized 
that  not  yet  in  Italy  had  I  seen  anything  so  wonder- 
fully picturesque.  At  the  far  top  of  the  lofty  crag 
against  which  the  city  backs  sat  a  heavy  build- 
ing like  a  mediaeval  castle  or  fortified  monastery, 
forming  the  apex  of  the  gigantic  pyramid.  Half- 
way down  the  bare  and  rocky  mountain  side  clung 
a  ruined  fortress,  a  buttress  of  the  city  wall,  with 
crumbling  top  and  huge  dismantled  tower ;  from  it 
to  right  and  left  swept  down  the  remainder  of  the 
mediaeval  battlements  to  the  plain,  —  gaunt  and 
terrible  upon  the  precipitous  stony  slope,  raising 
at  frequent  intervals  other  lofty  towers.  Some  of 


368  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

these  still  were  intact,  and  some  with  the  inner 
walls  fallen,  causing  them  to  loom  like  grisly 
skeletons  above  the  city.  Some  way  below  the 
ruined  citadel  forming  the  apex  of  this  triangular 
enceinture  rose  the  highest  buildings  of  the  town, 
two  large  adjacent  stone  structures,  distinguish- 
able by  the  ruinous  state  of  the  one  and  the  ancient 
romanesque  campanile  of  the  other  as  the  old  Pal- 
ace of  the  Dukes  and  the  cathedral.  Below  them 
again  was  the  central,  chief  feature  of  the  pic- 
ture, —  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  a  long  arti- 
ficial level  built  out  from  the  hill-slope  upon 
mighty  foundations  of  masonry,  with  a  tremen- 
dous gothic  pile  rising  from  it  upon  the  left  that 
towered  over  the  whole  city,  dwarfing  all  other 
buildings  to  insignificance  with  its  arcaded  mass 
and  frowning  battlements.  This  I  knew  must  be 
the  old  Palazzo  dei  Consoli,  or  Municipio,  now 
disused.  Large  buildings  also  fronted  upon  the 
two  other  sides  of  the  Piazza  della  Signoria ;  and 
from  this  predominant  group  of  structures  the 
town  fell  away  on  right  and  left  to  the  level  of 
the  plain. 

I  proceeded  to  an  inn  at  the  lower  edge  of  the 
city,  situated  where  the  walls  had  been  razed  and 
the  ground  they  had  occupied  converted  into  a  park- 
like  piazza,  and  after  a  little  lunch  took  a  steep 
street  that  led  from  the  Piazza  directly  up  to  the 
Signoria.  The  slope  of  this  became  more  acute 
as  I  advanced,  climbing  between  plain  old  houses 


,  , 

III  6    * 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          359 

with  crumbling  stained  fagades  of  stucco.  To  the 
right,  southwards,  opened  off  two  long  straight 
thoroughfares  that  maintained  a  level  along  the 
side  of  the  mountain ;  and  on  the  more  important 
—  called  the  Corso  —  I  saw  the  shops  of  the 
city  extending  away  for  half  a  mile,  with  quite  a 
throng  of  people  passing  to  and  fro.  There  was 
many  times  as  much  life  here  as  at  Citta  di  Cas- 
tello,  although  Gubbio  was  likewise  destroyed  by 
the  Goths,  suffered  the  blighting  influence  of 
papal  rule,  and  has  to-day  about  the  same  popu- 
lation. But  modern  life  is  on  the  plain,  and  the 
ancient  loftier  quarter  to  which  I  was  climbing 
was  as  dead  as  any  antiquarian  could  wish.  Just 
ahead  now  loomed  the  vast  substructure  of  the 
Piazza  della  Signoria,  a  series  of  colossal  arches 
opening  black  and  cave-like  to  the  air.  I  passed 
along  under  them  to  the  left,  gazing  at  the  para- 
pet of  the  Piazzaf  eighty  feet  above,  with  amaze- 
ment. Truly  the  mediaeval  Gubbians  spared  no 
toil  or  time  for  a  thing  that  suited  their  fancy ; 
they  were  inspired  by  the  freedom  and  pride  of 
civic  independence  in  those  centuries.  Like  all 
other  municipalities  after  the  wane  of  the  Empire 
of  Charlemagne,  Gubbio  was  first  a  republic  and 
then  an  autocracy.  In  such  days  was  built  this 
huge  Palazzo  dei  Consoli,  or  Palace  of  the  Consuls, 
towering  now  far  above  me  on  a  substructure 
of  pointed  arches.  I  mounted  to  it  by  a  winding 
stair-street  on  its  north,  that  led  me  ultimately 


360  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

around  into  the  Piazza  della  Signoria,  as  out 
of  breath  as  if  I  had  climbed  a  mountain.  Yet 
another  stairway,  direct  and  imposing,  led  from 
the  level  of  the  Piazza  to  the  great  recessed  door- 
way upon  the  first  floor  of  the  Palazzo.  The 
door  being  open,  I  entered  and  found  a  single 
vast  hall,  embracing  all  the  dimensions  of  the 
building,  bare,  void,  and  dismantled.  Here  doubt- 
less once  took  place  the  public  meetings  of  the 
citizens  and  their  elected  officers ;  there  was  no 
soul  about  to  inform  me  exactly.  I  climbed  a 
long  flight  of  stairs  affixed  to  the  outer  wall,  and 
emerged  at  the  top  upon  the  wide  loggia  under 
the  battlements.  The  view  thence  was  inspiring. 
It  ranged  over  all  the  city  below,  with  its  par- 
allel streets  upon  the  side  of  the  hill  and  steep 
ways  falling  from  them  to  the  plain,  and  it  took 
in  the  whole  luxuriant  valley  with  its  surround- 
ing mountains. 

Returning  to  the  Piazza,  I  observed  the  long 
renaissance  Palazzo  Ranghiasci-Brancaleone  — 
as  monumental  as  its  name  —  stretching  along  the 
eastern  or  mountain  side,  with  a  high  rusticated 
basement,  and  the  two  upper  stories  connected 
by  pilasters  in  the  style  of  Palladio.  On  the 
south  side  rose  the  dull,  ugly  Palazzo  Pretorio, 
another  ancient  civic  building,  now  used  as  the 
municipio.  In  this  I  found  some  human  beings 
—  the  first  sign  of  life  in  this  quarter  —  and  one 
of  them  exhibited  to  me  the  famous  Eugubian 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO  361 

tablets.  They  are  inscriptions  upon  bronze  plates 
in  the  ancient  Umbrian  and  Latin  languages, 
referring  to  sacrificial  ceremonies,  and  were  un- 
earthed here  in  1440.  In  this  building  is  also 
the  little  municipal  art  collection,  having  no 
painting  of  importance,  but  some  fine  old  wo'od- 
carving  and  specimens  of  Gubbio's  renaissance 
majolica-ware.  For  this  she  is  as  much  cele- 
brated as  for  her  extraordinary  religious  festival 
called  the  Elevation  and  Procession  of  the  Ceri, 
which  occurs  on  the  fifteenth  of  each  May. 

It  was  another  long  climb  to  the  cathedral 
and  the  ruined  Palace  of  the  Dukes.  The  ruin 
of  the  latter  is  not  so  evident  externally,  but 
nevertheless  is  sufficient  to  prohibit  entrance ; 
looking  through  a  hole  in  the  wooden  partition 
that  hoards  up  the  courtyard,  I  saw  the  remains 
of  past  beauty  and  magnificence  in  the  graceful 
colonnade  that  ran  about  it  on  three  sides.  Op- 
posite is  the  facade  of  the  cathedral,  ornamented 
with  crude  mediaeval  statues  of  the  evangelists. 
The  interior  is  bare  and  gloomy,  denuded  of 
what  paintings  it  had  for  the  municipal  gallery. 

There  is,  however,  a  painting  in  Gubbio  of 
priceless  worth,  —  the  famous  Madonna  of  Otta- 
viano  Nelli.  That  earliest  great  master  of  the 
Umbrian  school,  born  here  in  Gubbio,  has  left 
so  very  few  examples  of  his  art  behind  him  that 
it  is  rare  and  difficult  to  find  any  one  of  them. 
I  had  not  yet  had  that  pleasure,  in  spite  of  trav- 


362 

ersing  so  large  a  portion  of  Italy.  The  know- 
ledge that  he  preceded  even  Gentile  da  Fabriano 
had  made  me  anxious  to  see  if  his  works  showed 
the  origin  of  Umbrian  pietistic  gentleness  and 
grace  ;  and  it  was  with  anticipations  that  I  now 
took  my  way  eastwards  along  the  street  just  be- 
low the  Piazza  della  Signoria  to  the  church  of 
S.  Maria  Nuova.  The  church  was  closed,  but  a 
small  boy  procured  the  sacristan,  who  very  soon 
unveiled  in  a  chapel  in  the  right  the  renowned 
Madonna.  The  lifting  of  the  concealing  cloth 
was  like  letting  in  a  burst  of  golden  sunlight 
upon  the  shadows  of  the  nave;  the  wide  can- 
vas glowed  and  scintillated  with  bright  hues  as 
though  it  were  freshly  painted.  I  saw  Madonna 
and  Child  sitting  on  a  dais  with  fairy-like  angels 
making  music  before  and  holding  up  a  canopy 
behind  ;  with  their  tender  grace  and  beauty,  both 
of  form  and  coloring,  were  contrasted  two  sombre 
old  saints  to  right  and  left.  It  was  all  nearer  the 
Byzantine  than  Giotto  was ;  but  the  beginnings 
of  Umbrian  sweetness  and  grace  were  there,  and 
in  abundance.  In  spite  of  the  crudeness  of  dis- 
position and  awkwardness  of  postures,  its  won- 
drous charm  filled  me  with  deep  delight,  and  I 
continued  gazing  into  its  golden  world  of  music 
and  tenderness,  until  the  sacristan  jangled  his 
keys  in  weariness,  to  bring  me  back  to  this  mun- 
dane sphere. 

Continuing  on  this  street,  which  is  parallel 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          363 

to  the  Corso,  it  eventually  brought  me  by  a  turn 
into  the  latter  at  the  southern  gate  of  the  city ; 
and  just  outside  this  I  found  some  other  paint- 
ings of  Nelli,  frescoes  in  the  church  of  S.  Agos- 
tino.  Most  of  them  were  in  the  choir,  high  upon 
the  walls  and  ceiling  back  of  the  high  altar,  de- 
picting in  a  spirited  and  dramatic  fashion  events 
from  the  life  of  St.  Augustine.  I  was  surprised 
to  see  Nelli  possessed  of  such  dramatic  talent  in 
addition  to  his  power  of  repose.  The  execution 
was  not  as  good  as  in  the  Madonna,  but  this  was 
evidently  because  of  less  pains.  Certainly  no  one 
in  his  period  —  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century  —  equaled  Nelli,  and  no  artist  surpassed 
him  in  this  region,  until  Benozzo  Gozzoli  placed 
his  wonderful  frescoes  in  the  church  of  S.  Fran- 
cesco at  Montefalco.  In  the  nave  here  they  had 
recently  discovered  some  work  of  Nelli's  beneath 
the  barbarous  whitewash  with  which  it  had  all 
been  covered ;  and  I  saw  another  exquisite  Ma- 
donna, appealing  to  one's  every  conception  of 
the  beautiful. 

Strangely  enough,  there  is  a  Gentile  also  at 
Gubbio,  in  the  church  of  S.  Maria  outside  the 
Porta  Vittoria,  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
city,  upon  the  plain.  It  is  a  simple  Madonna, 
which  I  found  to  be  quite  Byzantine  in  drawing, 
yet  strangely  fascinating,  —  as  many  a  Japanese 
etching  is  beautiful,  upon  lines  which  we  cannot 
comprehend. 


364  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

I  returned  to  the  inn  —  after  investigating  a 
number  of  other  churches  with  no  reward  worth 
mentioning  —  by  way  of  the  Corso,  with  its  crowd 
of  rough-looking  mountaineers.  The  people  here 
are  quite  different  in  appearance  from  the  Tus- 
cans ;  they  have  not  behind  them  so  many  gener- 
ations of  peace  and  plenty  as  the  latter,  and  are 
correspondingly  more  uncultivated  in  face,  dress, 
and  manners.  They  are  new  wards  of  our  modern 
civilization,  for  it  is  but  a  few  years  since  the 
little  narrow-gauge  railroad  reached  them ;  and 
before  that  epoch-making  event  the  plateau  of 
Gubbio  was  rather  inaccessible. 

I  realized  its  inaccessibility  still  more  when 
the  time  came  for  me  to  leave  Gubbio  for  Fossato. 
Fossato  is  a  station  on  the  trunk  line  from  Rome 
to  the  Adriatic,  —  which  leaves  the  Umbrian 
plain  at  Foligno  and  reaches  the  sea  at  Ancona, 
— -  and  lies,  like  Gubbio,  against  the  backbone  of 
the  Apennines.  The  train  rolled  along  to  the 
southern  end  of  the  table-land  of  Gubbio,  and 
then  turned  eastwards  into  a  valley  with  precipi- 
tous sides.  Straight  ahead  soared  into  the  clouds 
some  mountains  with  terrible  pinnacled  forms, 
loftier  than  any  I  had  yet  seen ;  precipices  cut 
their  rocky  sides,  and  vast  ravines  wound  about 
their  crags  and  bases.  A  circular  widening  of 
the  valley  which  we  were  following  opened  out 
this  stupendous  view.  We  kept  on  the  southern 
side  of  it,  mounting  with  many  windings  so 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          365 

slowly  that  I  began  to  fear  for  my  connection  at 
Fossato.  There  was  but  ten  minutes  leeway  on 
the  time  table  between  our  destined  arrival  and 
that  of  the  Adriatic  express  from  Rome  to  An- 
cona,  which  would  not  wait  for  any  tardiness ; 
and  already  we  were  twelve  minutes  behind  time. 
I  had  disagreeable  visions  of  spending  the  night 
in  some  horrible  mountain  inn  at  Fossato,  which 
is  but  a  hamlet  on  a  pinnacle  near  the  junction. 
But  as  we  rounded  the  eastern  flank  of  a  hill  and 
approached  the  junction  from  that  direction,  I 
saw  the  Adriatic  express  just  pulling  in  from 
the  west.  In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  I  yet 
could  not  help  being  impressed  with  the  awful 
grandeur  of  the  scenery  about  us.  Tremendous 
rocky  forms  hung  from  the  clouds  on  every  hand, 
savage  and  threatening,  accentuated  by  the  dark- 
ness of  an  impending  downfall  of  rain.  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Fossato  perched  far  above,  with 
beetling  battlements  upon  its  crag ;  then  we 
clanged  into  the  station,  with  the  panting  ex- 
press waiting  to  start  across  the  platform.  Down 
came  the  rain  in  a  perfect  deluge,  from  the  midst 
of  which  appeared  a  providential  facchino,  to 
whom  I  hurled  my  heavy  bag  and  with  whom  I 
darted  across  the  boards.  Even  as  we  reached 
the  side  of  the  express  it  began  to  move ;  but, 
dripping  wet,  I  plunged  into  a  compartment 
whose  door  was  still  open,  held  by  the  guard, 
and  the  facchino  threw  the  bag  in  after  me. 


366  HILL   TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Never  was  I  more  thankful  for  a  narrow  es- 
cape. 

On  recovering  composure  I  found  that  we  were 
climbing  rapidly  a  deep  ravine,  in  the  final  ascent 
of  the  peninsular  divide.  Through  the  rain  I 
could  see  its  sides  rising  sheer  into  jagged  peaks ; 
and  so  high  were  we  that  the  tree  line  ended  but 
a  hundred  feet  above.  Soon  it  disappeared  en- 
tirely, and  we  crawled  through  a  rocky  gulch  made 
terrible  by  the  ominous  darkness  of  enfolding 
rain-clouds.  At  last  came  a  tunnel,  and  as  the 
train  reverberated  through  it  for  some  minutes  I 
knew  that  we  were  at  the  summit  of  the  road,  rush- 
ing beneath  the  topmost  ridge  of  the  Apennines. 

On  emerging  the  scene  had  wholly  changed. 
On  this  Adriatic  side,  although  dark  clouds 
hovered  about  the  peaks,  it  was  not  raining ;  and 
we  descended  rapidly  another  ravine,  which  soon 
opened  out  into  a  charming  valley.  Meadowland 
and  farms  reappeared,  patches  of  grain  soon 
dotted  the  landscape  between  the  stretches  of 
wood,  and  villages  showed  their  brown  roofs  from 
distant  knolls.  Finally  a  wide  extent  of  build- 
ings came  into  view  on  the  right,  spreading  about 
the  valley  with  domes  and  towers,  and  the  clouds 
around  the  western  summits  parted  to  throw  a 
flood  of  rosy  light  upon  them.  It  was  Fabriano. 
I  descended  at  the  station  and  took  a  vettura  for 
the  inn,  some  way  below. 

Fabriano  is  an  old  town ;  there  was  a  city  upon 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          367 

its  site  in  the  days  of  the  Romans.  It  first  be- 
came important  towards  the  end  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  after  the  introduction  of  paper-making 
into  Italy,  when  its  situation  upon  the  banks  of 
a  clear,  never-failing  mountain  stream  attracted 
the  location  of  that  industry,  to  which  a  constant 
supply  of  good  water  is  so  essential.  Since  the 
invention  of  paper-making  from  wood,  Fabriano 
has  increased  her  output,  for  she  is  one  of  the 
few  places  in  Italy  with  an  available  timber  sup- 
ply. Her  population  of  six  or  seven  thousand 
is  also  engaged  in  manufacturing  powder  and 
hats  and  tanning  skins.  The  evidences  of  a  pros- 
perous factory  town  were  at  once  apparent  as  I 
entered  the  main  quarter  ;  the  factories  and  tan- 
neries were  partly  visible  to  the  west,  and  the 
people  were  better  dressed,  more  active.  Yet  I 
was  plunged  at  once  into  a  picturesqueness  as 
intense  as  that  of  any  mediaeval  hill  town  that 
went  to  sleep  centuries  ago.  There  were  arcades 
everywhere ;  arcades  on  the  main  street  running 
from  the  railroad  southwards,  arcades  on  the 
central  Piazza,  into  which  it  opens,  arcades  on  the 
side  streets  to  east  and  west.  They  were  of  every 
size  and  quality,  though  entirely  renaissance  in 
effect,  and  spread  over  the  upper  as  well  as  the 
ground  stories  of  the  buildings. 

The  inn  at  which  I  located  myself  was  so  filled 
with  commercial  men  that  there  was  only  one 
room  available.  But  this  looked  out  from  the 


368  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

fourth  story  front  over  a  wide  piazza  opening 
westwards,  having  an  arcade  upon  the  right, 
and  upon  the  left  a  long  ascending  street  rising 
from  each  end  to  a  terrace.  The  hill  back  of  it 
rose  southwards,  bearing  the  white  mass  and  cam- 
panile of  the  cathedral,  with  brown  roofs  clus- 
tered roundabout  and  curving  off  to  the  west. 
Over  this  scene  fell  a  golden  light  from  the  west- 
ern mountains,  —  which  loomed  up  like  mighty 
pyramids  beyond  the  end  of  the  Piazza,  their 
wooded  flanks  and  dark  bristling  crags  but  a  few 
miles  distant. 

Leaving  the  inn,  I  walked  on  down  the  main 
street  to  a  huge  arch  that  spanned  it  not  far 
away,  a  great  curve  of  stone  masonry  that  marked 
the  central  Piazza.  The  stones  were  dark  with 
age,  and  it  appeared  of  mediaeval  construction. 
Beyond  it  spread  the  Piazza,  with  a  long  colon- 
naded building  on  the  left,  —  the  arcade  being 
picturesquely  placed  on  the  second  story,  —  and 
the  old  Municipio  and  bell-tower  on  the  right. 
The  Municipio,  of  course,  was  also  arcaded,  and 
beneath  the  arches  a  staircase  mounted  through 
the  building  to  another  piazza  on  the  hill  behind. 
Climbing  it,  I  found  myself  in  a  strange  open 
space  to  the  rear  of  the  Municipio,  with  the  cathe- 
dral facing  upon  it  from  the  south.  The  latter 
was  a  large  renaissance  building,  approached  by 
a  fine  flight  of  steps,  and  its  dusky  interior  I 
found  spangled  with  the  candles  of  the  vesper 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          369 

service.  Their  glimmering  light  reflected  from 
golden  mouldings  and  altars,  distributed  about 
with  the  indiscriminate  ornateness  of  the  rococo. 
Missing  art,  I  interested  myself  with  watching 
for  a  time  the  simple  people  who  came  in  and 
knelt,  said  a  few  prayers,  and  left  again.  Doubt- 
less they  departed  consciously  comforted  by  the 
faith  of  divine  forgiveness  for  any  sins  committed 
during  the  day,  and  unconsciously  stimulated  by 
the  gorgeous  trappings  of  their  cathedral,  gleam- 
ing in  the  golden  candlelight,  —  strange  and 
utter  contrast  to  the  poverty  of  their  homes. 

I  returned  to  the  central  Piazza  and  followed 
the  main  street  southwards  to  the  city  gate,  be- 
tween stuccoed  houses  of  good  size  and  repair. 
Everything  was  fairly  clean,  and  the  side  streets 
showed  similar  evidences  of  wakefulness  to  mod- 
ern ideas.  The  gate  was  mediaeval,  set  in  the 
old  brick  battlements,  with  dry  moat  beyond; 
but  beside  the  moat  was  a  modern  little  park, 
pretty  with  clumps  of  trees  and  shrub-lined  walks, 
with  views  over  the  city  wall  of  the  undulating 
roofs  and  springing  towers  within.  Here  was 
visible  the  complete  circle  of  lofty  mountains  with 
which  the  city  is  surrounded,  piercing  the  sky  on 
every  hand  with  an  unbroken  succession  of  sharp 
peaks.  No  town  that  I  had  seen  possessed  a  so 
perfectly  enchained  situation.  The  sun  that  had 
now  set,  leaving  the  valley  and  city  in  twilight, 
still  illumined  the  sky,  and  ruddied  the  bare  sum- 


370  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

mits  with  the  wonderful  drawn-out  softness  of  the 
Apennine  afterglow. 

I  had  but  a  few  hours'  sleep  that  night,  in  the 
little  room  over  the  western  piazza,  and  at  half- 
past  three  in  the  morning,  before  the  first  rays 
of  coming  day  were  yet  above  the  horizon,  was 
dressing  for  another  journey.  My  course  was 
northwards  now,  through  the  mountains  of  the 
central  range  to  far-famed  Urbino,  the  ideal  court 
of  the  Renaissance.  The  railroad  which  had  just 
been  finished  to  that  city  from  Fabriano  ran  but 
two  trains  a  day,  one  at  five  in  the  morning  and 
the  other  at  seven  in  the  evening;  and  after 
some  hurried  bread  and  coffee,  a  vettura  conveyed 
me  to  the  former.  The  sun  was  fairly  up  when  the 
train  started,  with  but  a  few  souls  on  board,  carry- 
ing me  alone  in  a  comfortable  compartment.  I 
thought  with  some  emotion  that  this  was  my  last 
rail  ride  through  the  Apennines, — for  beyond  Ur- 
bino the  iron  horse  has  not  yet  penetrated,  —  and 
I  should  have  to  reach  the  sea  with  one  of  flesh 
and  blood.  We  puffed  northwards  to  the  limits  of 
the  little  valley  in  which  lies  Fabriano,  and  then 
struck  off  boldly  amongst  the  rocky  peaks  glitter- 
ing in  the  early  light,  penetrating  a  deep  ravine, 
and  winding  through  it  to  emerge  upon  some 
rolling  highlands  beyond.  Here  were  occasional 
farmhouses  and  hamlets  situated  in  leafy  vales, 
and  flocks  of  sheep  and  herds  of  cattle  grazing 
upon  the  higher  grassy  slopes  in  true  Swiss  fash- 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          371 

ion.  The  scenery  continued  to  be  an  alternation 
of  such  rolling  uplands,  bordered  with  precipitous 
crags,  and  deep  ravines  through  which  waters 
splashed  beside  the  track.  Once  upon  emerging 
from  such  a  glen,  the  wildest  of  them  all,  I  found 
it  suddenly  opened  to  a  little  round  valley  filled 
with  the  roofs  and  towers  of  Cagli,  above  which 
we  crawled  upon  a  mountain  side.  Directly  over 
Cagli' s  picturesque  campaniles  soared  a  vast  sum- 
mit, tree-clad  and  darkly  terrible,  hiding  its  coni- 
cal rocky  head  in  the  clouds.  Other  such  moun- 
tains bounded  and  hemmed  in  the  little  vale,  so 
that  its  appearance  was  more  like  Grindelwald 
than  Italy. 

Not  long  after  that  we  crossed  a  deep  valley 
falling  eastwards  towards  the  sea,  in  which  direc- 
tion a  huge  cleft  in  the  mountain  wall  proclaimed 
the  presence  of  the  Furlo  Pass.  The  valley  was 
that  of  the  Metaurus,  through  which  the  Consul 
Cains  Flaminius,  who  fell  at  the  battle  of  Thrasy- 
mene,  constructed  in  B.  c.  220  the  great  high- 
road connecting  Rome  with  the  Adriatic  and 
Lombardy ;  it  was  named  after  him  the  Via  Fla- 
minia.  The  Furlo  Pass  is  where  the  river  cuts  its 
way  through  the  mountains  by  a  mighty  gorge, 
by  which  the  highway  ran  until  the  Emperor 
Vespasian  conducted  it  through  a  tunnel  at  the 
narrowest  part.  This  was  always  the  chief  means 
of  communication  between  Rome,  Umbria,  and 
the  valley  of  the  Po,  until  the  advent  of  the 


372  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Ancona  and  Bologna  railroads.  I  thought  of  the 
countless  companies  of  peace  and  war  that  had 
passed  beside  that  bright  stream  flashing  in  the 
valley  below,  and  penetrating  yonder  chasm,  dur- 
ing a  momentous  history  of  two  thousand  years. 
How  many  Roman  armies  marched  that  way  with 
glittering  shields  and  flying  banners  during  the 
early  centuries,  and  how  many  barbarian  hordes 
poured  in  the  other  way  with  uncouth  accoutre- 
ments, when  Rome  had  fallen !  Beyond  the  Furlo 
Pass  is  the  hill  of  Pietralata,  where  the  epoch- 
making  battle  of  the  Metaurus  was  fought  in 
B.  c.  207  between  Hannibal's  brother,  Hasdrubal, 
marching  southwards  with  sixty  thousand  men 
to  Hannibal's  support,  and  the  Roman  consuls. 
Hasdrubal's  defeat  and  death  saved  Rome  from 
destruction. 

Piercing  the  hills  to  the  north  of  the  Metaurus, 
we  rolled  on  through  glens  and  tunnels  to  Urbino. 
Another  stream  was  crossed,  and  other  rolling 
highlands,  with  now  and  then  a  mountain  village 
in  sight,  and  always  the  circumscribing  peaks.  At 
last,  about  nine  o'clock,  we  pulled  suddenly  into 
the  terminal  station,  built  at  the  foot  of  a  huge 
lofty  mountain,  which  barred  all  further  progress 
to  the  north.  It  was  the  mountain  of  Urbino ; 
and  on  descending  I  could  see,  cresting  its  sum- 
mit far  above,  the  lines  of  mighty  battlements  and 
towers.  A  diligence  was  waiting,  shaped  like  a 
train-car,  pulled  by  three  horses  j  and  into  this 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  TJRBINO          373 

the  passengers  climbed  for  the  long  pull  to  the 
city.  The  road  wound  gradually  around  to  the 
eastern  side  of  the  mountain,  gradually  climbing, 
with  a  magnificent  panorama  of  valleys  and  peaks 
unrolling  itself  as  we  rose.  It  was  the  eastern 
gate  in  the  ramparts  that  we  eventually  entered, 
and  then  skirted  to  left  about  the  southern  flank 
of  the  summit,  crowded  with  piled-up  houses. 

As  we  curved  around  this  flank  I  realized  that 
the  summit  was  not  one,  but  twain ;  for  a  deep 
gorge  cuts  into  it  at  the  centre  of  the  southern 
side,  a  gorge  which  climbs  from  the  far  valley 
below,  —  where  the  station  lies,  —  decreasing  in 
depth  as  it  mounts,  and  then  makes  a  single 
furrow  across  the  mountain-top,  to  deepen  and 
expand  again  upon  the  northern  side.  Thus  Ur- 
bino  sits  upon  twin  peaks,  connected  by  a  saddle. 
Upon  the  saddle  grew  the  original  town,  in 
remote  ages,  long  before  Rome  extended  her 
conquests  to  the  north  ;  for  it  had  a  position  of 
natural  advantages  that  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  earliest  inhabitants.  The  mountain  of 
Urbino  is  isolated,  and  its  sides  so  lofty  and  pre- 
cipitous as  to  render  the  town  at  the  summit 
impregnable ;  it  rises  midway  between  the  rich 
valleys  of  the  Metaurus  on  the  south  and  the  Fo- 
glia  on  the  north,  commanding  both,  and  having 
by  them  an  easy  access  to  the  sea.  There  is 
other  rich  land  in  the  vales  immediately  about 
the  mountain,  and  upon  the  broad  table-land  to 


374  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

the  west.  All  this  territory  became  owned  by  the 
inhabitants  of  Urbino  as  they  waxed  numerous 
and  powerful  upon  their  secure  retreat.  Their 
ownership  was  somewhat  interfered  with  by  the 
Romans,  who  called  the  city  Urvinum  Metau- 
rense, —  whence  its  modern  name,  —  but  was 
regained  and  strengthened  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
Then,  when  all  men  took  to  the  hill  towns  for 
safety,  Urbino  as  an  independent  republic  was 
at  the  height  of  her  prosperity.  The  inevitable 
tyrants  made  their  appearance  in  the  thirteenth 
century  in  the  family  of  the  Montef eltri ;  but  they 
seem  to  have  been  extraordinarily  sensible  ty- 
rants, who  kept  the  city  at  peace  within  and  with- 
out. Therefore  their  power  lasted  long;  and 
when  in  1474  Federigo  Montefeltro  married  his 
daughter  to  a  nephew  of  Pope  Sixtus  IV.,  he  was 
recognized  by  the  papacy,  then  the  predominant 
power  in  Italy,  as  a  legitimate  ruling  prince,  and 
given  the  title  of  Duke  of  Urbino.  Federigo  was 
a  remarkable  man ;  under  his  wise  rule  the  city 
not  only  prospered  so  exceedingly  as  to  be  the 
envy  of  all  other  states,  but  he  adorned  it  with 
the  greatest  ducal  palace  in  the  peninsula,  and 
filled  this  palace  with  a  court  so  brilliant  as  to 
be  the  talk  of  Europe.  It  was  brilliant  not  merely 
with  silks  and  precious  stones,  but  with  intellect 
and  culture ;  its  stately  halls  were  filled  with  visit- 
ing artists,  scientists,  and  philosophers,  and  its 
walls  were  adorned  with  numberless  paintings, 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          375 

sculptures,  drawings,  mosaics,  and  woodwork, 
the  finest  that  the  art  of  the  Renaissance  could 
produce  and  unlimited  wealth  could  obtain. 
Among  the  artists  were  Piero  della  Francesca, 
Timoteo  della  Vite,  — who  first  aided  the  grow- 
ing genius  of  Raphael,  —  and  Justus  van  Ghent, 
the  Flemish  master. 

Federigo's  son  Guidobaldo  continued  the  life 
and  brilliancy  of  this  ideal  court,  with  the  aid  of 
his  celebrated  beautiful  wife,  Elizabetha  Gonzaga. 
This  was  the  period  when  the  Renaissance  and 
the  culture  of  the  beautiful  were  at  their  peri- 
helion ;  with  their  wane  waned  the  refulgence  of 
the  dukedom  of  Urbino.  But  it  continued  in  the 
possession  of  the  Montefeltri  family  until  1626, 
when  Francesco  Maria  II.  brought  their  centuries 
of  autocracy  to  an  exceptional  and  not  inglorious 
end  by  abdicating  his  childless  throne  in  favor  of 
the  Church.  Urbino  has  also  declined ;  although 
it  has  about  15,000  inhabitants  to-day,  and  is 
next  to  Siena  and  Perugia  in  size  amongst  the 
mountain  towns,  this  is  probably  not  a  third  of 
its  magnitude  four  centuries  ago.  Also  it  is 
poor  where  once  it  was  rich ;  the  railroads  from 
Bologna  to  Florence  and  from  Ancona  to  Rome 
opened  new  trade  routes,  which  the  recent  com- 
pletion of  the  line  from  Fabriano  has  not  impaired. 

Much  as  Urbino  is  celebrated  for  its  great 
ducal  palace  and  past  courtly  splendor,  it  is  not 
of  these  that  the  average  man  thinks  when  the 


376  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

city  is  spoken  of ;  he  thinks  of  that  which  is 
perhaps  its  greatest  title  to  fame,  —  the  birth 
there  of  Raphael  Santi  in  1483.  This  master 
painter  of  the  world  was  the  son  of  another 
wielder  of  the  brush,  Giovanni  Santi,  who  was 
no  mean  artist,  and  employed  his  talents  under 
the  patronage  of  Duke  Federigo.  Giovanni  died 
in  1494,  too  early  to  have  moulded  his  son's  bud- 
ding genius;  but  Raphael  remained  at  TJrbino 
till  1500,  receiving  there  his  first  artistic  impres- 
sions and  instruction,  taking  ideas  from  Timoteo 
del  Vite  that  he  never  forgot ;  then  he  left  for  the 
school  of  Perugino. 

It  was  of  these  things  that  I  had  been  think- 
ing while  we  climbed  the  mountain  side ;  and 
when  we  turned  the  southern  angle  of  the  east- 
ern peak  and  curved  around  northwards  into  the 
hollow  between  the  mounts,  —  to  see  a  vast  edifice 
looming  far  above  upon  the  right  with  mighty 
pavilions,  towers,  and  turrets,  dominating  the 
town  as  a  cathedral  dominates  its  close,  —  I  knew 
it  at  once  as  the  palace.  It  sat  upon  the  west- 
ward slope  of  the  eastern  mount,  the  upper  por- 
tion peering  with  countless  windows  over  the 
thick  tree-tops  of  the  spreading  garden,  now 
used  as  a  public  promenade  ;  the  stories  increased 
in  number  as  it  descended  the  slope,  merging 
over  the  roadway  into  a  huge,  lofty  pavilion, 
having  a  column  of  recessed  arches  for  balconies 
in  the  centre,  and  picturesque  round  turrets  with 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          877 

steepled  tops  at  each  angle.  Beyond  this  it 
stretched  northwards  in  great  blocks  of  buildings, 
with  a  massive  dome  and  bell-tower  looming  over 
their  flat  roofs.  Nothing  could  be  more  char- 
acteristic of  the  hill  towns  of  Italy  than  this  view 
of  Urbino  with  its  palace.  Immediately  below 
the  vast  ducal  pile  lay  the  ancient  town,  spread 
over  the  sharp  saddle  between  the  peaks,  —  a  sea 
of  white  stucco  fa$ades  and  brown-tiled  roofs 
surging  against  the  palace  on  one  hand  and 
the  western  peak  on  tbe  other,  and  falling  like  a 
cascade  down  the  widening  gorge  into  a  broad 
white  piazza  like  a  pool.  This  last  was  the  mar- 
ket-place, as  I  could  see  by  the  stalls  and  herds 
of  animals,  and  it  extended  from  bank  to  bank 
of  the  ravine  upon  ponderous  arches  of  masonry. 
Lifting  the  eyes  to  the  western  mount,  I  saw  the 
town  climbing  it  in  stair-like  streets  and  circling 
tiers  of  houses,  piling  far  up  to  its  conical  sum- 
mit, where  fitly  sat  an  old  and  ruined  fortress. 

I  had  not  long  to  enjoy  this  wonderful,  pic- 
turesque view,  for  the  diligence  kept  steadily 
on  towards  the  centre  of  the  city,  passing  well 
above  the  market-place  and  directly  below  the 
palace,  till  it  stopped  in  a  street  with  the  pal- 
ace wall  upon  the  right  and  a  long  arcade  upon 
the  left.  Under  this  arcade  were  many  shops, 
and  here  I  found  the  entrance  to  the  principal 
albergo,  at  which  I  made  a  resolution  to  stay 
some  time,  for  Urbino  is  not  to  be  hurriedly  seen. 


378  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

The  room  allotted  me  looked  out  upon  the  gorge 
in  the  rear,  with  its  steeply  falling  houses  and 
animated  piazza,  with  the  fortress-crowned  peak 
looming  high  ahove ;  a  scene  that  had  unvary- 
ing interest  from  day  to  day. 

One  can  never  forget  his  first  walk  about  the 
hill-sides  of  Urbino.  I  took  mine  upon  the  east- 
ern mount,  —  holding  the  palace  and  the  cathe- 
dral, —  to  obtain  a  view  of  the  latter  and  a  closer 
inspection  of  the  former.  There  was  no  entrance 
to  it  in  the  mighty  stone  walls  that  loomed  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  arcaded  street  where  I 
was  stopping,  and  I  learned  that  the  entrance 
was  on  the  other  side,  upon  the  hill-top.  I 
started  off  northwards  under  the  arcades,  and  was 
led  directly  to  the  central  Piazza  upon  the  back 
of  the  saddle.  Here  beats  the  heart  of  the  an- 
cient city.  It  is  a  little  space,  between  low,  time- 
worn  buildings  faced  with  colonnades,  with  half 
a  dozen  streets  branching  out  of  it.  They  lead 
down  the  ravine  on  each  side,  and  up  the  hills, 
giving  vistas  of  houses  ascending  and  descending 
in  steps  and  bounds.  The  Piazza  was  crowded 
with  townspeople,  peasantry,  soldiers,  and  con- 
stabulary, gathered  in  large  groups  in  animated 
discussion,  which  looked  like  election  excitement 
but  was  simply  gossip.  The  soldiers  represented 
the  large  garrison  here  quartered,  and  the  coun- 
try people  were  left  over  from  the  market  attend- 
ance of  the  morning  ;  for  it  was  Saturday.  The 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          379 

old  picturesque  costumes  of  the  peasants  have 
disappeared,  but  the  throng  was  outre  with  rough 
clothes  and  wide-brimmed  felt  hats,  offset  by  the 
blue  uniforms  of  the  infantry. 

I  took  the  Via  Pucinotti  to  the  right,  and 
climbed  its  steep,  narrow  pavement  between  old, 
stained  plaster  fayades  till  it  widened  near  the  sum- 
mit into  another  piazza  containing  the  objects  of 
my  search.  It  was  minus  the  crowd,  but  held  in 
the  centre  a  beautiful  marble  statue  of  Raphael, 
recently  erected.  The  figure  was  clad  in  his  usual 
graceful  costume  of  long  hose  and  small  cap,  and 
stood  upon  a  high  pedestal  with  four  female 
figures  reclining  at  the  angles  of  the  foundation. 
On  the  right  rose  the  main  fagade  of  the  palace, 
whose  rectangular  baying-in  caused  the  Piazza, 
and  I  saw  that  the  stone  facing  of  its  bare  walls 
had  been  completed  only  through  the  first  story. 
It  was  handsome  as  it  was,  from  the  perfect  pro- 
portions of  the  parts  and  exact  interposition  of 
window-space  with  solid,  and  would  have  been 
very  magnificent  if  the  rich  facing  of  smoothed 
stone,  pilasters,  and  cornices  had  been  completed. 
Evidently  that  was  too  costly  even  for  the  purse 
of  a  Duke  of  Urbino.  The  right  wing  bore  an 
arcade  on  the  ground  story,  but  in  the  left  — 
the  most  finished  —  opened  the  entrance  to  the 
palace,  a  round  archway  leading  to  the  main 
courtyard  within.  I  penetrated  to  the  cor  tile,  and 
found  it  of  moderate  size  and  two-storied,  but 


380  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

exquisitely  graceful  from  the  round-arched  ar- 
cades on  all  four  sides.  There  is  no  finer  speci- 
men of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy.  The  monolithic 
columns  are  rich  with  composite  capitals,  and  the 
same  order  is  maintained  in  the  pilasters  between 
the  simple  window-frames  of  the  upper  story. 
There  is  not  a  false  note  in  the  harmony  of  this 
elegant  structure,  not  a  tone  too  severe,  nor  an 
ornament  too  much. 

Opposite  the  fagade  of  the  palace  rises  the 
cathedral,  of  inferior  renaissance,  the  great  door 
approached  by  a  high  flight  of  steps.  The  in- 
terior is  of  no  special  interest,  the  good  paintings 
which  it  contained  having  been  removed  to  the 
collection  in  the  palace,  and  the  architecture 
being  insignificant  save  for  the  imposing  dome. 
I  kept  on  up  the  hill-side  by  the  Via  Pucinotti, 
reached  the  summit,  —  where  there  was  no 
look-off  on  account  of  the  crowding  houses,  — 
and  descended  on  the  further  side  to  the  eastern 
gate.  There  I  met  the  road  of  circumvallation, 
built  upon  the  ancient  ramparts,  which  near  the 
gate  bulged  out  on  a  bastion  into  a  view-point 
with  stone  seats.  Some  tired  mothers  had  brought 
their  children  out  here  for  the  air,  who  were  fill- 
ing it  with  shrieks  and  wails ;  but  in  spite  of  the 
outcry  I  enjoyed  the  marvelous  panorama  spread 
out  before  me.  Sheer  below  fell  the  precipitous 
mountain  side  for  a  thousand  feet,  to  a  rich 
valley  checkered  with  fields  of  grain  and  vine, 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO  381 

which  curved  round  to  east  and  north  as  far  as  I 
could  look,  in  its  embrace  of  Urbino's  peak.  On 
its  further  side  soared  other  mountains,  in  all 
directions,  one  behind  another,  their  summits 
cutting  the  sky  with  round  and  jagged  outlines. 
It  was  like  the  view  from  Volterra,  not  so  stern, 
but  even  more  lofty.  Off  to  the  east  here  lay  the 
sea,  as  it  lay  to  the  west  of  Volterra,  but  no  sign 
of  it  was  visible.  The  sea !  The  thought  of  it 
thrilled  me.  Soon  I  should  see  it  again,  —  after 
these  seeming  years  amongst  the  mountains,  — 
and  should  walk  beside  its  welcome  surf. 

I  followed  the  road  of  circumvallation  around 
the  northern  side  of  the  city,  with  the  winding 
valley  ever  below ;  there  was  an  opening  in  the 
mountains  towards  the  valley  of  the  Foglia,  and 
through  it  wound  a  fine,  white  carriage-road, 
the  road  to  Pesaro.  Reaching  the  ravine  upon  this 
side,  I  climbed  up  it  to  the  central  Piazza  through 
what  was  evidently  one  of  the  oldest  quarters 
of  Urbino.  The  stones  of  the  street  that  were 
visible  through  the  filth,  and  the  stones  of  the 
houses  that  had  escaped  the  decaying  stucco 
work,  were  black  and  seamed  with  time.  Often 
here,  as  everywhere  else  in  Italy,  I  saw  good- 
looking,  well-dressed  women  seated  in  the  win- 
dows of  hovels  unfit  even  for  animals.  From  the 
Piazza  it  was  but  a  few  steps  to  the  inn. 

My  next  walk  took  me  up  the  western  peak,  and 
the  start  was  necessarily  made  from  the  Piazza  as 


382  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

before.  From  its  arcades  the  street  to  the  summit 
is  quite  straight,  and  lies  at  a  very  acute  pitch, 
although  wide  and  well-paved.  Some  of  the 
dwellings  have  been  in  modern  times  refaced  or 
rebuilt.  Halfway  up  on  the  left  there  clings  to 
the  hill-side  the  house  in  which  Raphael  was  born, 
a  simple,  narrow,  brick  building,  designated  by 
an  inscription.  It  is  now  owned  and  kept  up  by 
the  "  Reale  Accademia  Raffaelo."  The  interior 
contains  but  engravings  from  paintings  of  the 
great  master;  nevertheless  it  gives  one  a  thrill 
to  think  that  within  these  walls  that  surpassing 
genius  first  saw  the  light. 

At  the  summit  the  street  ends  in  a  grass-grown 
open  space  looking  westwards,  —  a  wide  bastion 
in  the  old  city  wall,  which  runs  up  here  from  the 
northern  and  southern  angles  of  the  peak.  The 
ancient  moat  is  in  evidence,  curving  about  the 
open  bastion  and  running  off  to  encircle  the  ad- 
jacent citadel.  This  fortress  I  found  to  be  now 
inaccessible,  because  the  authorities  are  using  its 
precincts  for  a  penal  institution ;  but  the  look- 
off  could  be  obtained  on  both  sides  of  it.  From 
the  little  grass-grown  Piazza  I  saw  the  peaks  of 
the  central  ridge  of  the  Apennines  sweeping 
magnificently  along  the  western  horizon,  and  in 
the  middle  distance  a  rich  and  deeply  rolling  up- 
land, one  of  the  sources  of  the  wealth  of  mediaeval 
Urbino.  From  a  little  street  descending  the  hill 
east  of  the  fortress  I  saw  the  city  piled  upon  the 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO  383 

opposite  peak  about  the  turreted  palace,  and  fall- 
ing thence  to  the  gorge  so  far  below.  I  descended 
this  street,  or  by-way,  which  wound  in  steps  back 
and  forth  upon  the  cliff,  between  dwellings 
perched  like  the  eyries  of  birds.  Nothing  more 
picturesque  could  be  found  than  the  vistas  down 
it,  and  down  its  leaping  cross-ways,  of  steeply 
falling  old  tiled  roofs  and  crumbling  fagades; 
of  people  toiling  up  the  worn  brick  steps,  cleft  by 
a  channel  for  the  rain  to  rush  in  like  a  cataract; 
of  children  playing  in  the  spots  of  sunshine  that- 
filtered  through  the  walls,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
vista ;  of  houses  climbing  again  upon  the  oppo- 
site hill  to  the  vast  menacing  towers  and  flying 
turrets  of  the  palace.  From  all  this  I  emerged 
eventually  near  my  starting-point  at  the  Piazza. 

Urbino  joins  to  its  surpassing  picturesqueness 
the  element  of  beauty,  in  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting collections  of  paintings  of  the  mountain 
towns.  It  is  visited  at  the  same  time  with  the 
rest  of  the  interior  of  the  palace,  which  altogether 
occupies  half  a  day  or  a  day,  although  like  any- 
thing else  it  can  be  rushed  through.  I  gave  the 
greater  part  of  a  day  to  it,  starting  from  the 
beautiful  cortile,  where  a  governmental  official 
picked  me  up  and  led  the  way  by  a  grand  stone 
staircase  to  the  first  floor.  The  national  govern- 
ment restored  the  whole  edifice  as  a  monument,  at 
considerable  expense,  and  now  maintains  it.  It 
also  gathered  the  present  collection  of  paintings 


384  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

from  the  churches  and  monasteries  of  Urbino,  — 
the  memorable  and  priceless  gallery  of  Duke 
Federigo  having  been  transported  to  Florence, 
through  the  marriage  of  one  of  the  duchesses  to 
a  Medici,  to  form  a  principal  part  of  the  Uffizi 
collection.  Naturally  Duke  Federigo  had  not  left 
in  Urbino  outside  of  his  gallery  many  paintings 
of  worth ;  nevertheless  these  that  have  emerged 
from  the  dusk  of  churchly  secretion  are  keenly 
interesting  from  the  presence  among  them  of 
works  by  Giovanni  Santi  and  Timoteo  della 
Vite.  They  are  hung  upon  the  walls  of  eight 
or  ten  rooms  amongst  the  great  suite  of  the 
piano  nobile,  which  is  the  second  story  at  the 
entrance  and  becomes  the  third  and  fourth  as 
the  palace  descends  the  hill. 

I  was  introduced  to  this  setting  of  the  ideal 
court  of  the  Renaissance  by  way  of  the  throne 
room,  a  huge  and  lofty  apartment  between  the 
courtyard  and  the  front  piazza.  It  is  still  a 
magnificent  room,  of  fine  proportions,  decorated 
ceiling,  and  handsome,  great  stone  chimney- 
pieces  ;  opposite  the  long  windows  looking  upon 
the  Piazza  is  the  dais  for  the  ducal  throne, 
now  most  appropriately  occupied  —  as  genius 
lives  when  worldly  pomp  is  dead  —  by  a  sitting 
marble  statue  of  the  boy  Raphael.  It  is  a  thing 
of  wonderful  beauty,  exhibiting  great  technical 
skill,  —  a  modern  work,  showing  the  grace  and 
spirit  of  the  ancients.  With  the  appearance  of 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          385 

gentle  youth  are  joined  the  delicate  hands  and 
features  of  the  artist,  the  noble  lofty  brow  of 
intelligence  and  high  ideals,  the  inset  eye  and 
concentrated  look  of  genius. 

Upon  the  walls  here  were  a  number  of  can- 
vases, —  also  upon  the  walls  of  the  stately  apart- 
ments which  opened  now,  one  after  the  other,  in 
a  continuous  procession  of  magnificence.  The 
art  of  their  fine  proportions,  colored  friezes, 
carved  pillars,  mouldings  and  chimney-pieces,  and 
intarsia-work  upon  doors  and  cabinets,  was  as 
beautiful  as  the  art  of  the  paintings  that  adorned 
them.  The  intarsia-work  was  especially  remark- 
able ;  there  were  dozens  of  doors  almost  as  fine 
as  the  celebrated  choir-doors  of  S.  Pietro  at 
Perugia ;  the  private  library  of  Duke  Federigo 
was  filled  with  intarsia  upon  all  the  walls  and 
ceiling,  —  forming  scenes  of  every  nature,  and 
portraits  of  himself  and  others,  with  accuracy 
of  perspective,  grace,  and  expression.  From  this 
library  a  door  opened  upon  a  balcony  in  the 
turreted  pavilion  at  the  southwest  angle  of  the 
palace,  looking  far  over  the  gulf  descending 
southwards  from  the  saddle,  and  beyond  the  for- 
tress-crowned western  peak  to  where  the  white 
road  to  Florence  wound  towards  the  distant 
mountains. 

Amongst  the  paintings  there  were  four  or  five 
by  Giovanni  Santi.  I  looked  them  over  at  once 
upon  catching  sight  of  them,  to  see  whether  Ra- 


386  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

phael  inherited  his  genius  from  his  father.  True 
enough,  the  heritage  was  there.  Predominant  were 
the  grace  of  Raphael,  his  tender,  Umbrian  sort 
of  beauty,  his  power  of  composition  and  expres- 
sion, his  executive  ability.  One  painting  repre- 
sented a  maiden  standing  in  a  fine  open  land- 
scape, with  a  crown  upon  her  head  and  a  phial  in 
her  hand,  —  a  simple  subject,  yet  enthralling  with 
its  sweetness  of  tone.  Her  head  was  remarkably 
Raphaelesque.  The  other  subjects  were  Madonna 
and  Saints,  S.  Sebastian,  S.  Rocco,  and  Arch- 
angel Gabriel.  So  great  is  the  likeness  between 
Giovanni's  work  and  his  son's  that  the  last  can- 
vas has  been  sometimes  attributed  to  the  son. 

The  paintings  of  Timoteo  were  next  in  order 
of  interest ;  among  them  a  marvelously  beautiful 
St.  Apollonia  exactly  in  Raphael's  manner  and 
drawing.  From  this  I  saw  where  Raphael  ob- 
tained his  uniquely  lovely  women,  not  Umbrian, 
not  Florentine,  but  of  a  style  all  their  own ;  he 
never  ceased  to  paint  the  type  that  he  obtained 
from  Timoteo,  —  not  because  he  was  unable  to 
change  it,  but  because  he  thought  it  the  sweetest. 

I  found  some  works  of  another  native  of  Ur- 
bino,  Baroccio,  which,  like  those  of  his  elsewhere, 
were  mostly  overdone,  overacted,  and  affected ; 
one,  however,  a  Stigmata  of  St.  Francis,  was  really 
very  fine,  being  remarkable  for  a  clean-cut  exe- 
cution, effect  of  light  and  shadow,  and  powerful 
expression.  There  was  an  extraordinary  architec- 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          387 

tural  study  by  Piero  della  Francesca,  unique  at 
that  period  for  its  subject,  and  yet  accurate  in 
its  details  and  perspective  ;  some  panels  by  Paolo 
Uccelli  (also  of  Urbino),  noticeable  for  their 
lifelikeness  ;  two  unimportant  Titian  s ;  an  ex- 
quisite Annunciation  by  Vitelli,  beautiful  in 
color,  tone,  and  finish ;  and  one  of  Fiorenzo  da 
Lorenzo's  lovely  Madonnas,  that  contrasted  with 
a  crude  Archangel  by  Barna  da  Siena. 

I  visited  at  different  times  many  of  the 
churches  of  Urbino,  which  have  not  been  de- 
spoiled of  all  their  objects  of  beauty.  The  most 
interesting  sit  upon  the  inner  slope  of  the  western 
peak,  reached  by  lateral  streets  from  the  main 
thoroughfare,  or  Contrada  Raffaelo,  leading  to 
the  summit.  One  of  these  side-streets  circles 
the  hill-side  to  a  northwestern  gate  of  the  city, 
whence  a  road  continues  westwards  along  the 
mountain  slope  ;  and  upon  this  street  I  found 
the  little  old  church  of  S.  Lucia.  It  was  closed, 
but  a  boy  rang  up  for  me  a  good  padre,  who  le* 
me  into  it  through  his  house,  and  exhibited  two 
Signorelli's  hung  upon  the  rear  walls,  so  far  aloft 
that  they  could  hardly  be  distinguished.  They 
were  the  two  sides  of  a  church  banner,  and  enough 
could  be  seen  to  recognize  the  familiar  drawing 
and  great  power  of  the  master. 

South  of  the  Contrada  Raffaelo,  just  above 
the  steep  street  falling  down  the  ravine  to  the 
animal  market,  are  perched  the  chapel  of  S. 


388  HILL  TOWNS  OF  ITALY 

Giuseppe  and  the  Oratory  of  S.  Giovanni.  The 
former  contains  an  unusual  sculpture-group  in 
plaster,  representing  the  Nativity,  with  life-size 
figures  of  persons  and  animals  upon  a  platform 
filling  the  whole  end  of  the  chapel.  In  the  dusk 
the  plaster  shines  like  marble,  and  the  perfect 
modern  execution  renders  the  scene  one  of  won- 
derful vividness  and  dramatic  power,  creating  an 
impression  upon  the  beholder  that  he  can  never 
forget.  The  Oratory  is  filled  upon  all  its  walls 
with  early  quattrocentist  frescoes  by  Lorenzo  da 
S.  Severino  and  his  brother,  of  the  school  of 
Giotto,  so  retouched  that  their  original  worth  is 
hidden ;  but  they  are  of  extraordinary  realism, 
action,  and  execution  for  that  period. 

After  all,  next  to  the  palace  the  most  enjoy- 
able thing  about  Urbino  was  to  wander  through 
its  precipitous  streets,  climbing  and  descending 
their  worn  brick  steps,  watching  the  people  liv- 
ing their  outdoor  life  upon  them,  catching  every 
moment  new  picturesque  vistas  of  weather- 
stained  crumbling  fagades  and  brown  roofs  fall- 
ing into  the  valley  and  piling  upon  the  peaks. 
Over  the  mass  of  them  soared  always  the  old 
campaniles,  pealing  the  passing  hours,  sounding 
summons  and  anthems  through  the  long  summer 
days.  And  at  eventide,  when  the  sun  had  just 
disappeared  behind  the  jagged  mountains,  they 
raised  a  grand  united  chorus  that  echoed  through 
the  calm  air  over  valleys  and  hills,  calling  to 


A   STRKKT    IN    UKIUNU 


GUBBIO,  FABRIANO,  AND  URBINO          389 

the  distant  villages  on  crag  and  pinnacle,  that 
answered  now  as  they  answered  to  Urbino,  their 
suzerain,  four  hundred  years  ago. 

A  stay  in  Urbino,  a  stay  in  the  wonderful  old 
hill  towns  of  Italy,  must  end  —  as  all  good  things 
in  this  life  must  end.  And  one  mellow  afternoon 
found  me  rolling  through  the  pass  in  the  north- 
ern mountains,  —  with  a  lingering  backward  look 
at  the  ducal  city  enthroned  upon  her  towered 
peak,  —  into  the  narrow  valley  of  the  Foglia. 
Eastwards  then  we  hurried,  down  the  ever  widen- 
ing vale  with  its  dashing  river,  hour  after  hour, 
till  the  westward  mountains  receded  low  upon 
the  horizon.  Then,  from  level  fields  softly  aglow 
with  the  color  of  the  Orient  in  facades  and  tiles 
of  village  houses,  I  gazed  at  them  for  the  last 
time,  —  those  Apennines  upon  whose  crags  are 
perched  the  hundred  hill  towns  of  romance,  art, 
and  history,  now  darkening  points  against  a  sun- 
set sky.  Amongst  those  pinnacles  —  where  I  had 
been  what  seemed  a  lifetime,  living  over  again 
the  marvelous  past  of  thirty  centuries  —  were 
lovely  Spoleto,  ancient  Viterbo,  holy  Assisi,  proud 
Siena  with  her  hundred  palaces,  castellated  Vol- 
terra,  San  Gimiguano  with  her  mighty  towers, 
jeweled  Orvieto,  and  Perugia,  queen  of  all,  upon 
her  cloud-swept  citadel.  There  dwelt  the  Etrus- 
cans, there  marched  the  conquering  legions  of 
Rome,  there  sprang  into  being  in  embattled  times 


390  HILL   TOWNS  OF   ITALY 

that  wonderful  Renaissance  of  Art  and  Litera- 
ture and  Religion  which  spread  to  all  the  world, 
to  make  it  what  it  is  to-day. 

Forwards  then,  with  a  reluctant  sigh,  I  turned 
my  gaze  ;  for  man  must  ever  forwards.  And  as 
the  vanguard  of  Xenophon's  Ten  Thousand,  after 
their  months  of  marching  homewards  through  the 
mountains  of  Asia,  on  seeing  afar  the  dancing  wa- 
ters of  the  Euxine  cried  "Thalassa!  Thalassa!" 
so  did  I  exclaim  "  The  sea !  "  For  there  it 
lay,  deep  blue  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun ; 
against  the  blue  rose  up  the  golden  battlements 
of  Pesaro,  tower  after  tower  soaring  above  them 
in  refulgence  against  a  cloudless  sky ;  and  be- 
yond, over  the  rolling  waves,  skimmed  the  red- 
sailed  fishing  boats  of  the  Adriatic. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


AMELIA  :  Pelasgic  walls,  81 ;  Ro- 
man remains,  82 ;  situation  of, 
80 ;  streets  of,  81 ;  view  from,  81. 

Amiata,  Monte,  229,  231,  235. 

Angelico,  Fra,  69, 186,  217,  218. 

Anguillara,  5. 

Aretino,  Spinello,  330. 

Arezzo :  8.  Annunziata,  338  ;  Are- 
tino's  work,  330  ;  cathedral,  335- 
337 ;  Cavour,  Via,  329, 334 ;  Corso, 
329,  331 ;  fortress,  329,  334,  335  ; 
S.  Francesco,  330 ;  Fraternita  d. 
Miser'a,  334 ;  Guido  Monaco, 
Via,  329,  statue,  329 ;  history  of, 
328, 329 ;  Lorenzetti's  work,  333 ; 
Margaritone's  work,  338  ;  8.  Ma- 
ria d.  Pieve,  331 ;  museum.  337  ; 
Palazzo  Pubblico,  334 :  Piazza 
Umberto,  329,  330;  Piero  d. 
Francesca's  works,  330 ;  public 
gardens.  334 ;  Robbia,  Andrea 
d.,  work  of,  337 ;  situation  of, 
328,  329  ;  Tarlati,  the,  329,  337; 
terra-cotta  work,  328.  337 ;  tomb 
of  Bishop  Q.  Tarlati,  337;  Va- 
sari's  colonnade,  333. 

Arno,  river  and  valley,  321,  326- 
328,  334,  335. 

Assisi :  aspect  of,  146, 147  ;  S.  Chi- 
ara,  147,  149 ;  Cimabne's  works, 
153, 159 ;  Duomo,  150 ;  Dupe's 
statue  of  St.  Francis,  150 ;  St. 
Francis,  life  of,  139,  cave  of,  143, 
church  of,  144,  151,  monastery 
of,  144, 160,  influence  on  art,  144, 
tomb  of,  158,  statue  of,  150; 
Giotto's  works,  152, 153, 159 ;  His- 
tory of,  148  ;  Lorenzetti's  work, 
157 ;  Lo  Spagna's  work,  143, 158  ; 
main  street,  the,  147  ;  S.  Maria 
d.  Angeli,  138, 139,  141 ;  Niccolo 
da  Foligno's  work,  150;  Over- 
beck's  work,  142 ;  Piazza,  148  ; 
Porziuncula,  the,  141 ;  public 
gardens,  160;  Roman  temple, 
148  ;  situation  of  ,137  ;  thornless 
roses,  the,  143 ;  Tiberio's  wdtk, 
143, 157. 


BAGLIONI,  the,  165, 170, 176-178. 

Bagnaja,  43 ;  Villa  Lante,  44. 

Bagnorea,  73. 

Barna  da  Siena,  323,  387. 

Baroccio,  Federigo,  196,  386. 

Bartolo  di  Fredi,  246,  268, 323. 

Bartolo,  Taddeo  di,  246,  268,  274, 
313,  323. 

Beccafumi,  Domenico,  247,  270- 
274,  288,  293. 

Bevagna :  8.  Micliele,  125 ;  piazza, 
125 ;  Roman  amphitheatre,  127 ; 
Roman  mosaics,  127  ;  S.  Silves- 
tro,  126  ;  situation  of,  119, 125 ; 
streets  of,  126. 

Bolsena,  lake  of,  60,  61. 

Bolsena  :  S.  Cristina,  62 ;  main 
street  of,  64 ;  miracle  of,  63. 

Borghetto,  211. 

Bracciano :  lake  and  town,  3 ;  cas- 
tle, 3,  4. 

BuonfigU,  Benedetto,  166, 185, 199. 

Byzantine  art,  144. 

CAOLI,  371. 

Campagna,  Roman,  1-3. 

Caprarola,  14,  15. 

Cascades  of  the  Velino,  84. 

Castelfiorentino,  321-326. 

Catherine,  St.:  house  of,  297;  story 
of,  296  ;  swoon  of,  295. 

Ceri,  Elevation  of  the,  361. 

Certaldo,  321-326. 

Chiana,  Valle  di,  214,  225,  339. 

Chiara,  Santa,  147, 149. 

Cbiusi :  situation  and  history  of, 
220 ;  Etruscan  tombs,  220,  221, 
223,  224. 

Cbiusi,  lake  of,  214,  222,  229. 

Cimabue,  Giovanni,  145, 153, 159. 

Cimminian  Hills,  2,  7,  22,  26. 

Citta  della  Pieve,  221. 

Citta  di  Castello :  art  gallery,  350; 
Cannoniera,  Palazzo  d.,  347 ; 
cathedral,  351 ;  Communale,  Pa- 
lazzo, 350;  history  of,  347; 
Palazzino,  349 ;  park  and  view, 
352;  Piazza,  348;  Raphael's 


394 


INDEX 


works,  351 ;  Signorelli's  works, 
351 ;  situation  and  aspect  of,  346, 
348;  Vitelli,  the,  347,  Palazzo, 
347,  348,  Cannoniera,  347. 

Civita  Castellana :  aspect  of,  19 ; 
cathedral,  21 ;  Fallerium,  19-21 ; 
fortress,  18 ;  history  of,  19  ;  ra- 
vine, the,  18  ;  situation  of,  18  ; 
streets  of,  20. 

Colle  di  Val  d'  Elsa,  305. 

Corpus  Christi  Festival,  63, 66, 202, 
234. 

Cortona :  Angelico,  Fra,  works  of, 
217,  218 ;  cathedral,  217 ;  S.  Do- 
menico,  218  ;  Etruscan  lamp,  219; 
history  of,  215,  216  ;  Madonna  d. 
Calcinajo,  215  ;  main  street,  the, 
215,  216  ;  S.  Margarita,218  ;  S. 
Niccol6,  218  ;  Palazzo  Pretorio, 
217, 219  ;  piazza,  216  ;  Signorelli's 
works,  217,  218 ;  situation  of, 
214. 

DANTE,  321. 

Damiano  da  Bergamo,  201. 

Donatello,  257,  276. 

Duccio,  Agostino  di,  182, 198. 

Duccio  di  Buoninsegna,  145,  246, 

266,  267,  281. 
Dupre1,  Giovanni,  150,  286. 

ELSA  RIVER,  302,  305. 

Elsa,  valley  of  the,  321,  326. 

"  Est,  Est,  Est,"  54,  60. 

Etruria,  plain  of,  26,  44,  55. 

Etruscan :  art,  191,  219,  223,  315 ; 
civilization,  191 ;  sarcophagi,  33, 
192,  204,  315  ;  tombs,  12,  19,  47, 
71,  204,  223,  224. 

Eugubian  tablets,  360,  361. 

Eusebio  di  S.  Giorgio,  186, 199. 

FABRIANO:  cathedral,  368,  369; 
history  of,  366,  367  ;  journey  to, 
365,  366 ;  main  street,  the,  368, 
369 ;  Piazza,  368  ;  situation  and 
aspect  of,  366,  369. 

Fallerium  (Fallere),  19,  21. 

Farnesi,  the,  14,  17. 

Farnese,  Pope  Paolo,  165, 175. 

Ferento  (Ferentinum),  46,  50. 

Fiorenzo  da  Lorenzo,  166, 185, 387. 

Flaminia,  Via,  371. 

Florentine  school  of  painting,  157. 

Foglia,  valley  of  the,  373,  389. 

Fougno  :  Coreo,  115 ;  history  of, 
117 ;  S.  Maria  infra  Portas,  118 ; 
S.  Niccol6, 119 ;  Niccolo  da  Fo- 


ligno's  work,  119 ;  Palazzo  Muni- 
cipale,  116  ;  Palazzo  Orfini,  116  ; 
Palazzo  Trinci,  115  ;  Piazza,  115  ; 
situation  of,  95,  114 ;  Via  Prin- 
cipe Amedeo,  116. 

Fortebraccio,  Braccio,  165,  187, 
193. 

Fossato,  364,  365. 

Francis,  St. :  cave  of,  143 ;  church 
of,  144-151 ;  Dupre"'s  statue  of, 
150 ;  influence  on  art  of,  144 ;  life 
of,  139 ;  monastery  of,  144,  160  ; 
Porziuncula,  the,  141 ;  thornless 
roses,  the,  143 ;  tomb  of,  158. 

Fungai,  Bernardino,  290,  298. 

Furlo  Pass,  the,  371. 

GENTILE  DA  FABRIANO,  363. 

Ghiberti,  Lorenzo  di,  257. 

Ghirlandajo,  Domenico,  311,  323. 

Gimignano,  San :  S.  Agostino,  324 ; 
aspect  of,  316 ;  Barna  da  Siena's 
work,  323;  Bartolo  di  Fredi's 
work,  323 ;  Benozzo  Gozzoli's 
work,  323,  324 ;  Dante's  visit  to, 
321 ;  drive  to,  316  ;  Duomo,  319 ; 
Filippino  Lippi's  work,  322 ; 
Ghirlandajo's  work,  323 ;  his- 
tory of,  316 ;  Lippo  Memmi's 
work.321 ;  main  street,  the,  317, 
324 ;  Palazzo  del  Podesta,  318 ; 
Palazzo  Pubblico,  318,  319,  321  ; 
Piazza,  318;  Pinturicchio'swork, 
322 ;  Spdoma's  work,  323 ;  Tad- 
deo  di  Bartolo's  work,  323; 
Tamagni's  work,  323 ;  towers  of 
the  Salvucci,  318;  view  from 
tower,  320. 

Giotto,  145, 152, 153, 159. 

Giovanni,  Benvenuto  di,  295. 

Giovanni,  Matteo  di,  233,  295. 

Gozzoli,  Benozzo,  121-123, 313, 323, 
324. 

Gubbio,  table-land  or  plain  of,  356, 
357. 

Gubbio:  S.  Agostino,  363;  art 
collection,  361;  cathedral,  358, 
361 ;  Ceri,  Elevation  of  the,  361 ; 
Corso,  359,  364 ;  Eugubian  tab- 
lets, 360,  361;  Gentile  da  Fa- 
briano's  work,  363 ;  history  of, 
359 ;  journey  to,  355,  356 ;  majol- 
ica-ware, 361 ;  S.  Maria  Nuova, 
362  ;  Nelli,  Ottaviano,  work  of, 
361-363 ;  Palazzo  Brancaleone, 
360;  Palazzo  dei  Consoli,  358- 
360 ;  Palazzo  dei  Duchi,  358, 361 ; 
Palazzo  Pretorio,  360 ;  Piazza  d. 


INDEX 


395 


Signoria,  368-360  ;  situation  and 
aspect  of,  357  ;  tableland  or  plain 
of,  356,  357. 

HADRIAN  IV.,  Pope,  35. 
Hannibal,  attack  on  Apoleto,  98. 
Hannibal,  battle  at  Thrasymene, 
210,  211. 

LANTE,  Villa,  44. 

Lippi,  Filippino,  322. 

Lippi,  Filippo,  93. 

Lorenzetti,  the,  157,  246,  268,  272, 

291,  333. 

Lorenzo  da  S.  Severino,  388. 
Lorenzo  da  Viterbo,  37. 
Lnco,  Monte,  89,  91,  94. 

MALATESTA  DI  RIMINI,  243. 

Marcovaldo,  Coppo  di,  290. 

Margaritone,  338. 

Maria  degli  Angeli,  S.:  cave  of  St. 
Francis,  143 ;  Lo  Spagna's  work, 
143 ;  Overbeck's  work,  142  ;  Por- 
zinncula,  the,  141 ;  thornless 
roses,  the,  143 ;  Tiberio  d'  Assi- 
si's  work,  143. 

Mariano,  Lorenzo  di,  288,  294. 

Martine,  Simone,  246,  266,  267, 
272 

Memmi,  Lippo,  246,  267,  290,  321. 

Mendoza,  244-255. 

Metaurus,  battle  of  the,  372. 

Metaurus,  river  and  valley,  371- 
373 

Michael  Angelo,  276. 

Miniato,  S.,  321-326. 

Montalcino,  229,  245. 

Montaperto,  242,  278,  288. 

Monte  Amiata,  229,  231,  235. 

Montefalco :  Benozzo  Gozzoli's 
work,  121-123;  S.  Fortunate, 
120;  S.  Francesco,  122;  Lo 
Spagna's  work,  124  ;  Perugino's 
work,  123  ;  Piazza,  122  ;  situa- 
tion of,  113, 119 ;  streets  of,  122  ; 
Tiberio's  work,  121-123;  view 
of  Umbrian  plain,  124. 

Montefeltri,  the,  374,  375. 

Montefiascone  :  cathedral,  59 ; 
"  Est,  Est,  Est,';  54,  60 ;  S.  Fla- 
viano,  57  ;  situation  of,  44  ;  tomb 
of  Bishop  Fugger,  58 ;  view  of 
Etrurian  plain,  55 ;  view  of  Lake 
Bolsena,  61. 

Monte  Maggio,  283,  304,  320. 

Montepulciano,  lake  of,  214, 229. 

Montepulciano  :    cathedral,    228  ; 


history  of,  225  ;  main  street,  226; 
Palazzo  Pubblico,  227;  Piazza 
Gentrale,  227 ;  situation  of,  214, 
225 ;  view  from,  227,  229. 

NABNI:  bridge  of  Augustus,  79; 

castle,    78;    situation    of,    78; 

streets  of,  79. 
Nelli,  Ottaviano,  361-363. 
Nepi,  23. 

Nera  River,  75,  78,  84. 
Nera,  plain  of  the,  78,  80. 
Niccolo  da  Foligno,  119, 150. 
Noveschi,  the,  243,  253,  271. 

ODESCHALCHI,  the,  4. 

Orsini,  the,  3. 

Orte :  "House  of  Julia,"  77;  me- 
disBval  castle,  77;  Roman  house 
walls,  76 ;  situation  of,  74 ; 
streets  of,  75. 

Orvieto:  cathedral,  facade,  67,  in- 
terior, 68  ;  Etruscan  necropolis, 
71 ;  Fra  Angelico's  work,  69 ; 
general  view  of,  64  ;  history  of, 
66  ;  mediaeval  streets,  69 ;  Signo- 
relli's  work,  69 ;  well  of  S.  Pa- 
trizio,  70. 

PAGLIA,  river  and  valley,  64. 

Passignanp,  210. 

Pelasgic  city  walls,  81,  99. 

Perugia:  S.  Agostino,  189;  An- 
gelico,  Fra,  work  of,  186 ;  S.  An- 
gelo,  189 ;  arch  of  Augustus, 
180  ;  art  gallery,  184 ;  Baglioni, 
the,  165,  170,  176,  178 ;  S.  Ber- 
nardino, 182 ;  St.  Bernardino's 
pulpit,  175  ;  Borgo  S.  Angelo, 
178, 189 :  Borgo  of  S.  Pietro,  197 ; 
Buonfigli's  works,  185,  199; 
choir  stalls  of  Perugino,  189, 
Raphael,  200  ;  Collegio  del  Cam- 
bio,  182;  Corso,  the,  171;  S. 
Costanzo,  202  ;  crucifix,  the 
great,  175 ;  Damiano  da  Berga- 
mo's doors,  201 ;  S.  Domenico, 
198 ;  Duccio's  city  gate,  198  ; 
Duomo,  172,  173,  195,  202:  St. 
Ercolano,  193;  S.  Ercolano, 
church  of,  194 ;  Etruscan  city 
gates,  182,  194,  205,  walls,  178, 
187,  museum,  191 ;  Eusebio  di 
S.  Qiorgio's  work,  186, 199  ;  Far- 
uese,  Pope  Paolo,  165,  175  ;  fes- 
tival of  Corpus  Christi,  202 ; 
Fiorenzo  da  Lorenzo's  work,  185; 
Fortebraccio,  165,  187, 193 ;  for- 


396 


INDEX 


tress,  the,  166,  168,  170,  194 ; 
fountain,  the,  173  ;  8.  Giuliana, 
201 ;  history  of,  163 ;  Julius  III., 
statue  of,  173 ;  Lo  Spagna's 
•works,  186 ;  Palazzo,  del  Capi- 
tano,  187,  Pubblico,  171, 173, 184, 
Vescovile,  173,  176;  Perugino's 
studio,  173,  works,  182,  185, 188, 
189,  200 ;  Piazza,  the,  173,  175, 
Dante,  177,  del  Prome,  1, 78,  So- 
pramura,  187  ;  S.  Pietro  de'  Cas- 
sinensi,  189, 199  ;  Pinturicchip's 
works,  186 ;  Pisano's  fountain, 
173 ;  Porta  Eburnea,  205  ;  Porta 
Marzia,  194;  Raphael's  work,  186, 
188,  200;  S.  Severe,  186,  188; 
Signorelli's  work,  196 ;  situation 
of,  137, 162 ;  Tomb  of  Pope  Bene- 
dict XL,  198 ;  Tomb  of  the  Vo- 
lumnii,  204 ;  university,  the 
modern,  190,  old,  187  ;  Via  Ba- 
glioni,  187  ;  Via  dei  Priori,  182  ; 
Via  Vecchia,  179;  view  from 
park,  168,  206;  Virgin's  wed- 
ding-ring, 197. 

Perugino,  111,  123,  166,  182,  185, 
188,  189,  200,  260,  285,  343. 

Peruzzi,  Baldassare,  247,  283,  289, 
294,  298. 

Petrucci,  Pandolfo,  244,  254,  257, 
299. 

Piccolomini,  the,  232,  242.  263. 

Piccolomini,  Aeneas  Sylvius  (see 
Pius  II.,  Pope). 

Piedeluco,  lake  and  village,  86. 

Pienza :  cathedral,  233  ;  drive  to, 
230  ;  festival  of  Corpus  Christi, 
234  ;  history  of,  232  ;  Piazza,  232 ; 
situation  of,  229,  231. 

Piero  della  Francesca,  330, 343-345, 
387. 

Pietro,  Sano  di,  233,  246,  269, 275. 

Pinturicchio,  134,  136,  186,  270, 
275,  276,  278,  322. 

Pisano,  Giovanni,  198. 

Pisano.  Niccol6, 173,  276. 

Pius  II.,  Pope,  232,  263,  280,  286. 

Pontassieve,  327. 

QUERCIA,  52. 

Quercia,  Jacopo  della,  254,  257, 
281. 

Quirico,  San:  collegiate  church, 
236 ;  drive  to,  235  ;  situation  of, 
229,  231,  235;  Sodoma's  work, 
237 ;  tower,  the  great,  237. 

KAFFAELO  DEL  COLLE,  343,  344. 


Raphael  Santi,  186,  188,  200,  351, 

376,  379,  382. 

Robbia,  Andrea  della,  52, 62,  337. 
Ronciglione,  7. 

SANGUINETTO,  the,  213. 

Sansepolcro  (Borgo):  aspect  of, 
340,  341 ;  campanile  of,  342  ;  ca- 
thedral, 342, 343 ;  Collachioni  Pa- 
lazzo, 344 ;  journey  to,  339 ;  Mu- 
nicipio,  342,  343;  Palazzo  del 
Marini,  342  ;  Perugino's  work, 
343;  Piazza,  342;  Piero  d.Fran- 
cesca's  works,  343-345,  statue, 
344 ;  Raffaelo  del  Colle's  works, 
343,  344. 

Siena :  S.  Agostina,  285 ;  approach 
to,  238,  239 ;  art  of,  265,  history 
of,  245,  247;  Bandini's  statue, 
250 ;  Baptistery.  257  ;  Bartolo  di 
Fredi,  works  of,  246, 268  ;  Bar- 
tolo, Taddeo  di,  works  of,  246, 
268,  274 ;  Beccaf  umi's  works, 
247,  270,  274,  288,  293-  Buon- 
signori.  Palazzo,  288  ;  Capitano, 
Via  del,  261 ;  Capella  di  Piazza, 
254;  Caroccio,  the,  242,  256; 
Casino  dei  Nobilis,  252  ;  cathe- 
dral, 248,  253,  261,  262;  St. 
Catherine,  house  of,  297 ;  St. 
Catherine,  story  of,  296 ;  St.  Cath- 
erine, swoon  of,  295-  Cavour,  Via, 
247,  252;  Chigi,  Palazzo,  261; 
Citti,  Via  di,  248,  253,  261,  262  ; 
Columbus,  arms  of,  294 ;  Com- 
munale,  Palazzo,  253,  271 ;  Degli 
Innocenti,  church  of,  282  ;  S.  Do- 
menico,  292,  295 ;  Donatello's 
works,  257, 276 ;  Duccio's  works, 
246,  266,  267,  281 ;  Duomo  (see 
cathedral) ;  Dupre"'s  statue  of 
Pius  II.,  286;  emblem  of,  240; 
environs  of,  284,  292  ;  flagstaffs 
from  Montaperto,  278 ;  Fonte- 
branda,  fountain,  296, 299 ;  Fonte 
Gaja,  254,  281 ;  Fontegusta, 
church  of,  294;  Forte  S.  Bar- 
bara, 248, 301;  fortress  of  Charles 
V.,  244,  248  ;  S.  Francesco,  292, 
293 ;  Fredi,  Bartolo  di,  works  of, 
246, 268 ;  Fungai,  works  of,  290, 
298  ;  Garibaldi  statue,  248  ; 
Ghiberti,  Lorenzo  di,  works  of, 
257  :  Giovanni,  Benvenuto  di, 
works  of,  295 ;  Giovanni,  Matteo 
di,works  of  ,246, 295 ;  Goose,  Ward 
of  the,  296 ;  Governo,  Palazzo  del, 
262 ;  history  of,  240-245;  Institute 


INDEX 


397 


des  Beaux  Arts,  265  ;  library  of 
Duomo,  275,  278 ;  Lorenzetti, 
the,  works  of  ,246,  268,  272,  291  ; 
Malatesta  di  Rimini,  243  ;  Man- 
gia  tower,  253 ;  S.  Maria  della 
Scala,  280;  S.  Maria  del  Car- 
mine, 283 ;  Mariano,  Lorenzo  di, 
works  of,  288,  294  ;  Marcovaldo, 
Coppo  di,  works  of,  290 ;  Martine, 
Simone,  works  of,  246,  266,  267, 
272  ;  S.  Martino,  263,  278  ; 
Memmi,  Lippo,  works  of,  246, 
267,  290;  Mendozza,  244,  255; 
Michael  Angelo's  works,  276; 
Montaperto,  battle  of,  242,  278, 
288;  Monte  Maggio,  283;  mu- 
seum of  Duomo,  281 ;  Nerucci, 
Palazzo,  262  ;  Noveschi,  the,  243, 
253,  271 ;  Oratorio  of  S.  Bernar- 
dino, 293 ;  Palazzo  Communale, 
253,  271 ;  Palio,  festa  of  the,  242, 


works,  247,  283,  289,  294,  298; 
Petrucci,  Pandolfo,  244, 254, 299-; 
Petrucci,  Pandolfo,  palace  of, 
257 ;  Piazza  d'  Armi,  295  ;  Piazza 
di  Campo,  247,  253,  255  ;  Piazza 
Postierla,  261 ;  Piazza  Salimbeni, 
249 :  Piazza  Tolomei,  252  ;  Picco- 
lomini,  the,  242,  263;  Pietro, 
Sano  di,  works  of.  246,  269,  275  ; 
S.  Pietro  alle  Scale,  287 ;  Pintn- 
ricchio's  works,  270, 275, 276, 278 ; 
Pisano,  Niccolo,  pulpit  of,  276 ; 
Pius  II.,  Pope,  263,  280,  286 ;  Pius 
n.,  loggia  of,  263 ;  Pius  II.,  Du- 
pr^'s  statue  of,  286;  plague  of 
1348,  the  great,  243 ;  Porta  Ca- 
mollia,  295  ;  Porta  Fontebranda, 
296,  299;  Porta  S.  Marco,  283; 
Porta  Ovile,  293 ;  Porta  Romana, 
291 ;  Quercia,  Jacopo,  works  of, 
254,  257,  281 ;  Reale,  Palazzo, 
261 ;  Ricasoli,  Via,  248,  253,  262, 
288,  289;  Salimbeni,  Palazzo, 
249,  250 ;  Saracini,  Palazzo,  262  ; 
Servi  di  Maria,  289;  siege  of 
1554-55,  the  great,  244 ;  Sienese 
school  of  painting,  245-247,  265  ; 
situation  of,  240, 247  ;  Sodoma's 
works,  246,  254,  269,  274,  275, 
283, 286,  289,  293,  295;  Spinocchi, 
Palazzo,  249;  S.  Spmto,  289; 
Tolomei,  Palazzo,  252 ;  Vec- 
chietta.  works  of,  246, 275;  Ward 
of  the  Goose,  296,  299,  300. 


Sieve  River,  327. 

Signorelli,  Lnca,  69, 196,  217,  218, 
311,  313,  351,  387. 

Sodoma,  54,  69,  74,  75,  83,  86,  89, 
93,  237,  246,  295,  323. 

Soracte,  Monte,  9,  15. 

Spagna,  Lo,  91,  111,  112,  114, 124, 
135,  143,  158,  186. 

Spello  :  S.  Andrea,  136,  aspect  of, 
130 ;  history  of,  131 ;  Madonna 
della  Stella,  135 ;  main  street, 
the,  133 ;  S.  Maria  Maggiore, 
134;  Pinturicchio's  work,  134, 
136  ;  Roman  archways,  136, 138 ; 
Roman  gate,  131 •  situation  of, 
95,  129;  Via  d.  Torre  d.  Bella 
Vista,  136;  view  of  Umbrian 
plain,  137. 

Spoleto :  S.  Agostino'clel  Crocifisso, 
104  ;  albergo,  the  old,  90 ;  castle, 
89, 94, 106  ;  cathedral,  92  ;  Corso, 
89 ;  cyclopean  walls,  99  ;  Filippo 
Lippi  s  fresco,  93 ;  Filippo  Lip- 
pi's  tomb,  93  ;  Gate  of  Hannibal, 
98 ;  history  of,  86 ;  Lombard 
bridge,  94  ;  Lo  Spagna's  fresco, 
91  ;  Madonna  di  Loreto,  103 ; 
Monte  Luco,  89,  91,  94 ;  Palazzo 
Municipale,  91;  S.  Paolo,  102, 
103-  Piazza  V.  Emanuele,  90; 
S.  Pietro,  101  ;  S.  Ponziano,  104  ; 
ravine  of  the  Tessino,  94 ;  re- 
mains of  Roman  house,  92;  re- 
naissance palaces,  96 ;  situation 
of,  88,  89,  106  ;  southern  gate  of 
S.  Luca,  90,  91 ;  streets  of,  96; 
Tessino  River,  89;  vale  of  the 
Tessino,  101,  103,  107 ;  view  of 
Umbrian  plain,  95. 

Sntri :  Etruscan  amphitheatre,  13 ; 
Madonna  del  Porto,  12  ;  Piazza, 
11 ;  situation  of,  11 ;  streets  of, 
11. 

TADDEO  DI  BARTOLO,  246,  268, 

274,  313,  323. 
Tamagni,  Vine.,  323. 
Tarlati,  the,  329,  337. 
Terni :  cascades  of  the  Velino,  84 ; 

situation  of,  83 ;  streets  of,  84. 
Tessino,  river,  89,  ravine  of  the, 

94,  vale  of  the,  101, 103,  107. 
Teverone,  river  and  valley,  88. 
Thrasymene,    Lake  :    aspect   of, 

209;  battle,  scene  of,  210,  211; 

convent-castle,  the,  210;  islands 

of,  209;   Passignano,  210;  San- 

gninetto,  the,  213. 


398 


INDEX 


Tiber,  river  and  valley,  73,  162, 
167,  169,  204,  340,  346,  352,  354, 
355. 

Tiberio  d'  Assisi,  121, 123, 143, 157. 

Timoteo  della  Vite,  376,  386. 

Titian,  387. 

Todi,  162, 169. 

Tomb  of  the  Volumnii,  204. 

Torrenieri,  238. 

Trevi :  cathedral,  112 ;  Lo  Spagna's 
work,  111,  112,  114  ;  S.  Maria  d. 
Lagrime,  110,  111 ;  S.  Martino, 
114  ;  Municipio,  112  ;  Perugino's 
work,  111 ;  Piazza,  112 ;  situation 
of,  95, 110,  streets  of,  112  ;  View 
of  Umbrian  plain,  113. 

Trevignano,  5. 

Tuoro,  212. 

UCCELLI,  PAOLO,  387. 

Umbertide,  355. 

Umbrian  plain,  87,  95,  108,  113, 
120,  124,  137,  162,  168,  206. 

Umbrian  school  of  painting,  157. 

Urban  IV.,  Pope,  66. 

Urbino :  art  gallery,  383  ;  Barna 
da  Siena's  works,  387;  Baroccio's 
work,  386;  cathedral,  380;  du- 
cal palace,  374,  376,  379,  383; 
Duke  Federigo,  374, 384 ;  Duke 
Guidobaldo,  375;  Fiorenzo  da  Lo- 
renzo's work,  387 ;  fortress,  377, 
382;  S.  Giovanni,  Oratory  of, 
388 ;  S.  Giuseppe,  388 ;  history  of, 
373-375;  journey  to,  370-372 ;  Lo- 
renzo da  S.  Severino,  388 ;  S.  Lu- 
cia, 387;  Montefeltri,  the,  374, 
375 ;  Piazza,  378  ;  Piero  d.  Fran- 
cesca's  work,  387;  Pucinotti,Via, 
379, 380 ;  Raffaelo,Contrada,  382, 
387 ;  Raphael's  early  history,  376; 
Raphael's  house,  382 ;  Raphael, 
statue  of,  379 ;  Santi,  Giovanni, 
work  of,  376,  385;  Signorelli's 
work,  387 ;  situation  and  aspect 


of,  372,  373,  377 ;  Timoteo  della 
Vite's  work,  376,  386;  Titian's 
works,  387;  Uccelli,  Paolo,  work 
of,  387 ;  view  from,  380,  382 ; 
Vitelli's  works,  387. 

VAIXE  DI  CHIANA,  214,  225,  339. 

Vecchietta,  233,  246,  275. 

Veii,  1, 2. 

Velino,  cascades  of  the,  84. 

Vignola's  palace,  Caprarola,  16. 

Vitelli,  the,  347. 

Viterbo :  Bagneja,  43 ;  Corso,  28  ; 
customs  of,  39 ;  Dominican  mon- 
astery, Quercia,  52  ;  Duomo,  34, 
36  ;  Etruscan  bridge,  48  ;  Feren- 
tinum,  46,  50 ;  S.  Giovanni  in 
Zoccoli,  37 ;  history  of,  27,  29 ; 
Longobard  walls,  36 ;  Lorenzo 
da  Viterbo's  works,  37 ;  S.  Maria 
d.  Quercia,  52 ;  S.  Maria  d.  Ve- 
rita,  36,  37 ;  Palazzo  Municipale, 
33  ;  Palazzo  Vescovile,  34 ;  park, 
the,  39 ;  Piazza,  32  ;  S.  Rosa,  38 ; 
Tibuccio,  48 ;  Villa  Lante,  44 ; 
wine  of,  42. 

Vol terra:  art  collection,  311;  as- 
pect of,  308;  Baptistery,  314; 
Benozzo  Gozzoli's  works,  313; 
cathedral,  312,  314 ;  drive  to, 
306 ;  Etruscan  city  walls,  307, 
309, 310  ;  Etruscan  museum,  315 ; 
fortress,  the,  307 ;  S.  Francesco, 
gate  of,  313;  Ghirlandajo'swork, 
311  ;  history  of,  302-304  ;  Mino 
da  Fiesole's  candelabra,  312-  Pa- 
lazzo Municipale,  31.0, 311 ;  Piazza 
Maggiore,  310,  311 ;  Porta  all' 
Arco,  309, 315 ;  Signorelli's  work, 
311,  313 ;  situation  of,  302,  304, 
306 ;  Taddeo  di  Bartolo's  works, 
313  ;  view  from,  308. 

Volumnii,  tomb  of  the,  204. 

ZUCCARI  BROTHERS,  16. 


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